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Little Kit 


By Bffie Adelaide Rowlands, 

Author of “At a Great Cost,” “A Conqueror of Fate.” 


ILLUSTRATED BY C. KENDRICK. 



No. 127. 


NEW YORK! 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 


Publishers. 


THE POPULAR SERIES. 


No. TITLE 

1— The Outcast of Milan 

2 — Kollo of Normandy 

3 — Mart Satterlee Among the Indians. 

4 — Kit Carson’s Cast Trail 

5— The Scourge of Damascus 

6 — The Great Kenton Feud.... 

7 — Luke Hammond the Miser 

8 — The Conspirator of Cordova - 

9 — The Fortunes of Conrad 

10— Diamond Seeker of Brazil 

11— The Robber Countess 

12 — Bel Rubio 

13— The Royal Outlaw 

14— The Bandit of Syracuse 

15— Roderick of Kildare 

16— The Seri Lovers of Siberia 

17— Karl the Lion 

18— The Young Castaw r ays 

19— The Caliph of Bagdad 

20— The Spectre’s Secret — 

21 — The Knight’s Motto 

22— Alaric, or The Tyrant’s Vault 

23 — The Stolen Vail and The Unsigned Will 

24— The Executioner of Venice 

25— Josephine’s Heart 

26 — The Black Tiger 

27— Theseus: Hero of Attica 

28— The Gunmaker of Moscow 

29— Florabel’s Lover 

30 — lone 

31 — Parted at the Altar 

32— Cris Rock 

33 — Maud Morton 

34— Parted by Fate 

35 — Under a Cloud 

36 — A Mad Betrothal 

37— John Winthrop’s Defeat 

38 — Lady Kildare 

39— A Leap in the Dark 

40 — The Bailiff's Scheme 

41— The Stone-Cutter of Lisbon 

42— The Old Life’s Shadows 

43— Reunited 

44 — A Love Match 

45 — Mrs. Harold Stagg 

46— Breta’s Double and A Memory 

47— The Beads of Tasmer 

48— The Lost Lady of Lone 

49— The Baroness Blank 

50— Sundered Hearts 

51— Paoli, The Hero of Japan 

52— A Cruel Suspicion 

53— Morris Julian’s Wife 

54— Gertrude the Amazon. 

55 — Rome, or The 1 mprovisatore 

56— Edda’s Birthright 

57— The King’s Mark 

58— Under Oath 

59— Zina, or Dreaming and Awaking. 

60— The Carletons 

61 — Lida Campbell 

62— The Breach of Custom 

63— Little Theresa (Mile. Desroches) — 

64— The Miser’s Daughter 

65 — Wife and Woman 

66— Reuben Foreman the Blacksmith.. 

67— Nearest and Dearest 

68 — Love is Lord of All 

69 — Beryl’s Husband 

70— The Chautaiiouans 

71— Romance of Trouville 

72— Littie lieamer-iLkiossoiii 

73— The Little Countess 

74 — Dear Elsie 

75— The Hungarian Girl 


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1895 

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A New York Novel. 


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For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
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N. 


LITTLE KIT. 









































































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LITTLE KIT 


\ 


21 3To»fL 


BY 

EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS, 

Author of “A Conqueror of Fate,” “ At a Great Cost etc. 

-&1 

M 




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY C. KENDRICK. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S 



G o ? wight ** 

I SEP r 6 189$ 

sons! ' 




PUBLISHERS. 


4t«f1 

■ a.A'1 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY ! ISSUED QUARTERLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 1*7, 
SEPTEMBER 1, 1895. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 


r--i. 



COPYRIGHT, 1895, 

BT ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 

(All right $ reserved.) 


press of 

THE NEW YORK LEOQER 
NEW YORK. 


LITTLE KIT 


CHAPTER I. 


U 


K 


ITTY ! Kitty ! Kit !” 


The strong, not unmusical voice rang out 
on the summer air. It was a voice that car- 


ried well, and it penetrated to the depths of the goose- 
berry bushes that clustered in such profusion in the 
old-fashioned kitchen garden. A girl, sitting bunched 
up in a heap before one of the heaviest laden of the 
fruit bushes, laughed as the sound reached her ears. 

“ Kitty ! Where are you ? Kit, I say ! Answer up, 
there 's a good soul ! I want you.” 

The voice was coming nearer and nearer, was just 
beside her, in fact. She crouched down a little farther, 
and drew her auburn head out of sight as the white- 
flannel-clad figure sauntered by on the narrow path. 

“ Kitty ! Kate ! Katherine !” 

There was absolute desperation in the last shout. 

The girl popped up her head. 

“ Do you want me ?” she asked, most innocently. 

Christopher Hornton came to a sudden standstill. 

“ You little cat !” he exclaimed. “ Have you no con- 
sideration for my lungs ?” 


[ 7 ] 


8 


LITTLE KIT. 


He seated himself across a wheelbarrow that was 
close beside him, and looked at her out of his hand- 
some, boyish eyes. 

“ I say, Kit, don’t keep everything to yourself. Shy 
us a handful." 

“ Come and pick them for yourself," Kitty retorted. 

“ What ’s going on ?’’ he inquired, as he disposed of 
one. 

“Jam !" was the girl’s laconic reply. 

“ You have good things to eat in this house, and no 
mistake." 

“ Well, and don’t you ? In yours you ought to, con- 
sidering what a grand one it is !’’ 

“ It may be grand to look at," the boy said, “ but," 
with considerable candor, “ it ’s an awful sham when 
you get inside. By the way, Kit, you have never been 
over yet to see my new den. When are you coming ? 
Don’t be such a little sneak as to say you are afraid of 
the mater.” 

“ I am not a sneak," Kit answered with some indig- 
nation, “ although I don’t mind confessing I am afraid 
of your mother, awfully. She kind of dries me up. I 
never know whether I am on my head or my heels 
when she is speaking to me !" 

“ As if that mattered !’’ exclaimed Chris. “ She can’t 
eat you." 

Kit gave a sigh of relief. 

“ I shouldn’t mind being eaten by some people," was 
the next observation. “ In fact, I should rather like it. 
But your mother !" 

Chris was silent. He sat looking at her bunched up 
under the gooseberry bushes. He was only a boy, and 
he was not possessed of any great artistic proclivities. 
He heard others around him express an opinion that 
Katherine Marlowe was an exceedingly plain girl. His 


LITTLE KIT. 


9 


mother, Lady Hornton, indeed, had gone so far as to 
express a regret that her son’s great friend and com- 
rade should be so lamentably unprepossessing in ap- 
pearance. 

Such a misfortune ! Really, fate is very cruel some- 
times. One should never question the hand of Provi- 
dence, of course. Still, it does seem a strange thing 
that one should be given so much while another has so 
little. Now, if that unfortunate, red-haired girl could 
have had even a small portion of her cousin’s beauty, 
she need not perhaps have had occasion to grumble at 
her lot. But that she should be given nothing , and 
Constance Marlowe so much, is one of those things 
not quite easy to accept or understand. 

Chris always felt a hot anger in his heart for his 
mother when she adopted this tone, and he was apt to 
lose his temper with Kit’s other detractors, and to stand 
up boldly and declare he found the girl the sweetest 
and most beautiful of her sex. 

He loved to see the color flash into her cream-pale 
cheeks and the light to deepen and darken in her eyes. 
These chameleon eyes and the mass of ruddy brown 
hair, that had more of a copper tinge than a golden 
one, were to Chris something apart and . above all other 
eyes and hair in the world. 

It was nothing to him that the girl’s features were 
absolutely unclassical, that her skin was always pale, 
her mouth huge, her figure thin and somewhat angu- 
lar. To him Constance Marlowe, the stately, exquisite 
Constance, whom all the world (as constituted by the 
county of Westshire) declared to be something phe- 
nomenal, something extraordinary in the way of beauty, 
was nowhere beside his beloved Kit. 

Constance was always sweet, always dainty, always 
gentle-voiced, but she was as cold as one of the old 


10 


LITTLE KIT. 


stone figures in the ancient Rockstone church, and 
Chris had a .shrewd suspicion she was almost as hard. 

Constance's figure was divine, her walk graceful and 
stately. She had, indeed, a marvelous way of moving ; 
but the boy’s heart turned instinctively with delight to 
Kit's unexpected and not always conventional move- 
ments in place of her cousin’s stately grace ; and there 
was nothing he loved so much as to entice Kit into 
some wild scamper, a frantic game of tennis, a long 
walking match, or a race across the meadow to see who 
would leap the ditch first. 

There was nothing the girl could do that Chris did 
not love, except, maybe, when she elected to dance 
three times running with Gerald Mannering of the 
lengthy limbs. 

He sat watching her now as she swayed herself to 
and fro, the sunlight making her hair a ruddy halo about 
her pale face. 

“ I wish I could dance !” he said, breaking the silence. 

She looked up at him with those wonderful eyes of 
hers. 

“Now, don’t cultivate jealousy, Chris; it is so beastly. 
And remember it is the one only thing Gerald can 
do.” 

Chris swung his feet to and fro on either side of the 
wheelbarrow. 

“ What are you going to do this afternoon ?” he 
asked, after a pause, during which Kit had fallen into 
a delicious day-dream. 

“Oh ! I am going to have a lovely time. I prom- 
ised Hepzibah she should have this basket full by 
luncheon time, and so here I have been since break- 
fast. I wanted to get this done this morning, so that 
I could have a real good smouch all to myself, while 
Consti is at the Sinclair garden party.” 


LITTLE KIT. 


11 


“ Can't I come and smouch, too ?” Chris asked, wist- 
fully. 

She shook her head. 

“ Oh, you are going- to be one of the great folk,” she 
said, laughingly. “You are a grown-up Christopher 
to-day.” 

“ If you think I am going to this beastly affair, 
well — ” Chris stopped for want of words. 

“ I don’t think about it,” Kit remarked, as she shook 
the berries about in the basket to make room for 
more. “ I know you will go. Your mother will make 
you. It is wonderful what mothers can do when they 
try.” 

“ We will see about that,” the boy said, defiantly. “ I 
don’t do things I don’t want to very often, I can tell 
you.” 

“ You are a plucky little boy, then, that s all. There,” 
piling another large handful on to the top of the 
already full basket — “ there, I think that will do now. 
You can make yourself useful, and help me to carry 
this, if you choose to be a nice person.” 

“ I sha’n’t help you to carry it,” Chris said, seizing 
the basket. “ I fancy I can do these sort of things best 
alone.” 

Kit watched him lift the heavy weight with eyes full 
of admiring affection. 

“ You know, Chris, you are a dear, sweet thing when 
you are not cross, or — silly.” 

She put her hand through his free arm, and rubbed 
her cheek on his shoulder softly. 

“ I am very fond of you, Chris, very, very.” 

The boy’s handsome face flushed suddenly. 

“ Is that honor bright, Kit ?” he asked, in a voice that 
spoke something more than boyish affection. 

She looked up into his eyes. 


12 


LITTLE KIT. 


“You know it is. Whom have I got to love except 
you, Chris ? And I do love you, dear ! You have al- 
ways been so good to me, such a true, stanch friend — 
my friend of friends." 

The boy's heart swelled within him. 

“ Only stick to that always, Kit, and you '11 be right. 
You've always got me, you know, whatever happens ; 
we 've been such good chums, haven’t we, all 
along ?" 

“ Chris, do you remember the first time we met ? 
What a funny-looking little thing I must have been in 
my black dress, so forlorn and so ugly. Oh, I can just 
feel my heart beating now as it beat then. How afraid 
I was of everybody — it was so strange and horri- 
ble, and I hated it all !” 

“Poor little Kit! I remember. You looked as if 
you were afraid of breathing. I was sorry for you. 
We soon made friends, though, didn’t we ?” 

“ I was not afraid of you, but of Aunt Emily 
and of Constie. I can see Constie now standing on the 
doorstep as uncle and I drove up. She was so pretty 
• — just like a beautiful big doll — and I dared to kiss 
her." Then Kit laughed. “Just imagine trying to 
kiss Constie now ! How she must have hated me. I 
expect I was dusty and shabby, and my eyes must 
have been nearly blind with crying, and Constie does 
hate anything that is not very clean and proper." 

Chris shifted the basket a bit in his hand to relieve 
his muscles. On the subject of Constance Marlowe he 
never had much to say. 

He did not like Miss Marlowe nor her widowed 
mother, and he wished in a vague yet pronounced 
way that he could take Kit out of the life where 
fate and her penniless, orphaned condition had left 
her. 


LITTLE KIT. 


13 


The bread of dependence is sweetened sometimes by 
sympathy and sincere love ; but there was no over- 
abundance of this even between the mother and 
daughter, and certainly there was none to spare for 
outsiders. 

Moreover, it was an old and oft-told story ; Kit’s 
mother had been a poor gentlewoman earning her 
bread when George Marlowe had met her. 

The marriage had been considered a mistake by his 
family, and by none more than by his brother Nigel’s 
wife, who had refused steadily to acknowledge the 
existence of her humble sister-in-law. When sorrow 
and misfortune in the form of her beloved husband’s 
sudden death fell upon the unhappy woman, she was 
forced to turn to that husband’s brother for help, and 
she did not ask in vain. 

Nigel Marlowe never faltered in his duty, going so 
far, indeed, as to insist, despite all his wife could say, 
on giving a home to the desolate orphan child, who 
was thrown penniless and friendless upon the world 
when the coffin had closed over her mother. 

Kit had been brought back to the comfortable coun- 
try house by her uncle, and had been told she was to 
call it her home ; and here she had grown up a flower, 
needing all the exquisite care and loving sympathy to 
nourish and bring to perfection the blossom of the 
beautiful nature that was within her. 

That the flower grew and flourished without these 
aids spoke strongly of its magnificent root. 

There were moments when Constance Marlowe grew, 
if possible, more cold and distant toward her cousin. She 
considered Kit’s conduct that of a mannerless hoiden, 
and she had a way of letting the girl feel this, although 
she never was anything but gentle and sweet-voiced 
in any remark she made. 


14 


LITTLE KIT. 


Kit’s one sensation was one of vexation with herself 
at such times. But Chris had quite a different opinion 
on the matter. 

“ Everybody calls Constance so sweet,” he sometimes 
said to himself. “ I don’t know where her sweetness 
lies, blowed if I do. She ’s as hard as nails. Doesn’t 
she know how to hurt, just !” 

But it was no use talking like this to Kit. The girl 
honestly and truly believed in her cousin’s manner and 
nature. 

“ We aren’t the same, of course not,” she had said to 
Chris. “ But that doesn’t say that Constie isn’t ever so 
much better than me. You are awfully down on 
Constie, you know, Chris ; and it is so unjust of 
you. You are the most prejudiced person in the 
world.” 

“ Yes, I am,” Chris had answered, shortly. “ And a 
good job, too ! Look here, if you are going to stay 
in the house, I ’ll be off. Perhaps you ’ll come out to- 
morrow and do something.” 

“ Perhaps,” Kit said, as he put the basket down on 
the step of the kitchen door. “ In any case, you might 
come over and tell me how you got on at the Sinclairs’. 
I expect you will enjoy yourself no end ; only mind, I 
forbid you absolutely to flirt with Lily Davis, or — ” 

“ Oh ! I say, Kit, shut up ! As if I ever did do such 
a thing. And then you forget I sha’n’t have any 
chance — tied to the mater” 

She pushed open the kitchen door and dragged the 
basket in a little way. 

“ I will sit here, Hepsie,” she said, addressing some 
one inside. “ It is much cooler, and I can see the 
chickens. They are such fun. Oh, yes ; I shall get 
this done. You know what I am when I make up my 
mind !” 


LITTLE KIT. 


15 


She drew a stool forward, sat down on it, and, with a 
large glazed bowl on one side and the basket on the 
other, prepared to be very busy. She looked up once 
and waved her hand to Chris, as he sauntered away 
down to the meadow ; and he turned as he reached the 
corner, and took a farewell glance at the girl whose 
red-tinged head and blue gown made a warm and 
picturesque spot of color in the old-fashioned door- 
way. 


16 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER II. 

“It will necessitate a drive into Rockstone,” Lady 
Sinclair said, pausing in her writing, the end of her 
penholder going as by magnetism toward her pretty 
red lips. 

“ Well ?” 

“‘Well!’” she bit the end of her ivory penholder 
viciously. “ Well, I hate driving into Rockstone, that ’s 
all r 

“ A very good all !” was the answer given in a semi- 
languid, semi-amused tone. 

“ I hate Rockstone, and I hate the long, white, dusty, 
glaring road one has to get over before one gets there, 
and I hate — ” 

“ Hush !” observed the second voice, adopting the 
sort of expression that is generally used to calm a 
fractious child. “ Hush — good girls should never hate 
anybody or anything they — ” 

“ Bosh ! I wish you would not be so priggish, Philip. 
I hate you when — ” 

“Your capacity for hatred seems extensive, my 
cousin !” Philip Desmond said, in his slow, extremely 
pleasant voice. 

Lena Sinclair was undoubtedly a pleasant subject for 
any man’s attention, and Philip had always had a 
strange liking for the girl whom he had watched grow 
up from childhood, almost under his very nose. 

He called her “ cousin,” but they were not bound by 
ties of blood ; only he had drifted into this accepted 


LITTLE KIT. 


17 


relationship years ago, and it had become a recognized 
fact nowadays and Lady Sinclair had a distinct pleas- 
ure in publishing this soi-disant kinship with one whom 
the world held so high as Sir Philip Desmond. 

“Your capacity for hatred seems extensive, Lena,” 
he said, as he lay back and looked at her, a smile play- 
ing for an instant over his bronzed, keen-cut features. 

“ Yes, I am in full possession of all my faculties,” 
she returned, coolly. “ Philip, do be nice for once — 
just for once !” 

“ Am I ever otherwise ?” inquired Sir Philip, gravely. 

“ Most certainly you are ; on that point I have no 
hesitation.” 

“ I had no idea 1 was such an ogre !” 

“ You used to be much better tempered long ago, be- 
for you went to India — and before — ” 

“ And before you grew out of a little girl into a 
fashionable young woman, married to — ” 

Lady Sinclair jumped up from the chair. 

“ Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t finish ! I know what 
you are going to say. Married to a man old enough to 
be my father. Now, confess, wasn’t that it ?” 

Philip Desmond shook his head and closed his maga- 
zine. 

“ Not exactly ; my termination would have been — 
married to one of the best and most honorable men in 
all the world.” 

She frowned slightly. The warmth in his voice, the 
earnestness, seemed to her vanity something of a 
slight. 

“ Oh, I know you thought, and do think, that Robert 
has completely thrown himself away in marrying 
me.” 

Sir Philip made no immediate reply. When he spoke 
he dismissed the subject. 


18 


LITTLE KIT. 


“You want me to do something ?” 

The frown cleared suddenly. 

“You are a magician. I do. Drive me into Rock- 
stone.” 

“ You have not yet explained to me what induces 
you to do something that is so very disagreeable to 
you.” 

“ But,” Lady Sinclair broke in abruptly, “ didn’t you 
hear what Cobb said just now ?” 

“Well,” Sir Philip put the magazine down on a table 
near, “ and what did Cobb say that was of such vital 
interest ?” 

“ Oh, nothing much to you, of course, but to me !” 
Lena flitted to the window again. “ It is only my 
dress that has gone wrong ; instead of Corinne sending 
it to Thornton Station, she has directed it to Rock- 
stone. I told Cobb to wire up the first thing this morn- 
ing. The gown ought to have been here last night, 
and I — ” 

“ Ah, now I understand the reason of your bad tem- 
per ever since breakfast,” Sir Philip said lightly. “ I 
could not quite make it out. So it was all about a dress. 
Poor little Lena !” 

“ And I have to go all the way to Rockstone to get 
it ! I will just run and put on my hat. Won’t keep 
you a minute, Philip.” 

Philip Desmond stood looking out over the sunlit 
lawn and flower-beds gay in myriad colors. There was 
a summer drowsiness and peacefulness in the air. 

He woke out of his thoughts with a start as Lady 
Sinclair flitted in again. 

“ The carriage is ready. We must go by the Thorn- 
ton road. I have a message to leave for Constance 
Marlowe. I want her to come up very early, and help 
me as much as she can this afternoon. I know,” with 


LITTLE KIT. 


19 


an impatient little moue , “ you don’t mind how far you 
drive me now that you know that you are to have a 
peep at Constance. 1 am so delighted that you admire 
her.” 

“ Impossible to do otherwise,” Sir Philip said warmly. 
“ She is a beautiful girl — a little cold, but beautiful all 
the same.” 

“ She ought to marry well,” Lady Sinclair went on 
with the subject, as she ensconced herself in her seat, 
and took the reins of a handsome pair of cobs. 

“ I suppose she never goes to London ?” 

“ Only occasionally ; Mrs. Marlowe’s health is so bad. 
They are not very rich ; not exactly poor, but I fancy 
it is a struggle with them sometimes. Agricultural 
property is not always the best in the world — at least, 
so Robert says.” 

As they approached the entrance to The Limes, which 
was the name given to Mrs. Marlowe’s house, Lady 
Sinclair pulled up : 

“ Philip, do you mind going as far as the door and 
leaving my message, my love, and I want Constance to 
come over very early ?” 

Sir Philip got down at once. 

“ Nothing more ?” he asked, and receiving a shake of 
the head for answer, he turned and swung his well-built 
form quickly up the avenue of old trees, whose scented 
branches gave a delicious fragrance to the summer 
morning air. 

“ It is a pretty little place,” Desmond said to himself. 

Sir Philip walked up to the open doorway. There 
was not a soul in sight except a man digging or other- 
wise gardening, some distance off. 

The hall inside looked dainty and hospitable, with 
wicker chairs and cushions and rugs lying about. 

Sir Philip sought in vain for the bell. The walls 


20 


LITTLE KIT. 


were thickly covered with ivy that grew down over the 
doorway and posts, hiding everything. Not discover- 
ing what he sought, he had recourse to his stick, and 
tapped sharply at the door. 

There was no response to his knocking, so he repeated 
it, and then he heard a voice, down a passage evidently, 
call out clearly : 

“ I will go, Hepsie. I expect it is Potter with the — ” 

Sir Philip turned, hesitated only a moment, and doffed 
his hat to the girl who stood before him in a blue 
duster gown, her sleeves tucked up almost to the elbow, 
an apron pinned about her, and a leaf caught, not inar- 
tistically, in the coils of her magnificent copper-colored 
hair. 

Kit blushed a little as she beheld the strange guest 
on the doorstep, and then smiled as she took the mes- 
sage. 

“ I will tell Miss Marlowe,” she said. 

Sir Philip paused, looked at her again, then turned 
away and retraced his steps, haunted, indeed almost be- 
witched, by the memory of two marvelous eyes, the 
power and beauty of which he had never seen equaled 
in all his checkered and varied career. He reached 
the carriage just in time. Lady Sinclair declared Dandy 
was growing restive. 

“ Did you see Constance ?” she asked, as they drove on. 

He shook his head. 

“ I saw an unknown sprite — a slender bit of a thing 
with a crown of red-gold hair, and such eyes !” 

Lena gave a scream. 

“ Philip, you don’t mean to say you admire that ugly 
girl ? Why, she is a monster ! Even Robert says so. 
She has not a good point anywhere !” 

Sir Philip said nothing, and Dandy giving a definite 
and desperate shy at that moment, he had to go to the 


LITTLE KIT. 


21 


rescue, and was saved a reply ; but as Lady Sinclair 
regained her composure, the drive was accomplished 
and her errand fulfilled, Philip Desmond found ample 
time to indulge in his thoughts, and they dwelt, in a 
manner that was strange and persistent, on the form 
of the girl who had stood before him but for a mo- 
ment. 

“ There seemed a shade of sorrow in her face,” he 
mused. “ Poor little thing ! Is she happy, I wonder ?” 

Kit, back once more to her bowl and basket of goose- 
berries in the old kitchen, would have been intensely 
astonished could she have known that the aristocratic 
and handsome man, whom she had but slightly noted 
in the one brief moment of seeing him, was thus deeply 
occupied about her. 


22 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER III. 

“The last ! Thank goodness !" 

Kit sat and regarded the huge bowl of gooseberries, 
and gave a sigh of intense relief. 

“ Hepsie, look! I have finished/' 

The red-cheeked, middle-aged country woman who 
reigned in the kitchen just glanced at her. 

“ You 've earned your holiday, Miss Katherine," she 
said, not unkindly. 

“ I don’t seem to care so much for my holiday now I 
have got it. That 's always the way, isn't it, Hepsie ?" 

Hepsie answered “Aye," and went on with her work 
of the moment. 

The girl sat on. The minutes ticked away almost 
half an hour before she felt inclined to move, and then 
she suddenly woke out of her dreamy thoughts. 

“ A little water would not come amiss," she said, 
holding out her hands that were dirt-stained from her 
task. “ I had better go and make myself decent. I 
suppose Constie is gone by now ? Did you hear the 
carriage, Hepsie ?" 

Hepsie nodded her head. 

“ But Miss Constance isn’t gone yet ; I heard her 
speaking just a moment or two ago." 

“ I think I will go and have a look at her before she 
starts, then. That white frock must look lovely !" 

“It ought to," Hepsie answered, gruffly, “it has 
given enough trouble. Such a fuss about a gown, to 
be sure !" 


LITTLE KIT. 


23 


“ Well,” added Kit, as she was preparing to mount 
the old-fashioned staircase to her small bedroom up in 
the eaves — “ well, if there has been a fuss, there will 
be a good result. Constie will be quite the prettiest 
person there to-day, I know.” 

“ That is as it may be,” the servant answered shortly, 
as she picked up Kit’s pan of picked gooseberries and 
carried it easily in her brawny arms to an inner 
kitchen. 

Constance was no great favorite with her mother’s 
valued domestic. She was too indifferent, too cold, to 
win much sympathy from any one who served her. 

With Kit it was another pair of shoes, and many and 
deep were the discussions these two had together over 
the mysteries of some new dish which Kit had read 
out of the old receipt book and Hepsie had obediently 
followed. 

“ You ’ll get a good husband one of these fine days, 
Miss Katherine, see if you don’t. A young lady as can 
turn out such an omelet as yourn are, must meet with a 
reward.” 

“ Oh, bother the husbands !” Kit always made an- 
swer to such a remark as this. “ If that’s all the re- 
ward I am to have, well, I don’t call it much. Besides, 
I never mean to marry.” 

“ Don’t go and say rash things, Miss Katherine ; you 
never know what ’s in store for you.” 

Kit would only laugh and shake her head, with its 
wonderful burden of hair. 

It was not often that Kit allowed her exuberance to 
have vent anywhere in the vicinity of her aunt. Mrs. 
Marlowe was not afflicted with nerves ; indeed, she 
had a strongly expressed contempt for all such unfor- 
tunates who did possess them ; but she objected to 
anything that was what she considered unconven- 


24 


LITTLE KIT. 


tional, and she had little hesitation in designating- the 
girl’s natural high spirits by the harsh terms of vul- 
garity and ill-breading. 

There was little of this exuberance about her this 
afternoon, however ; she was weary with the heat and 
the long sitting, and she mounted the staircase slowly. 
She turned down the landing and knocked at one door. 

“ May I come in, Constie ?” she asked. 

Miss Marlowe said “Yes” in a quiet, concentrated 
way. She was occupied in putting some finishing 
touches to the bodice of her soft, filmy white gown. 

Kit drew near to the toilet table. 

“ Oh, Constie, how lovely you look !” she exclaimed. 

Constance was quite aware of Kit’s admiration, and 
smiled at it, not unpleased. She accepted it as her 
due, however ; had she not received it she would have 
been extremely astonished. She twisted and turned 
her graceful form in front of the glass, and surveyed 
herself from all points. 

“ Does the back go quite straight ?” she inquired of 
Kit ; “ the skirt, I mean ?” 

“ A little more to the right, I think,” Kit said, criti- 
cally surveying her. “Just the tiniest little bit, 
though.” She put out her hands involuntarily, but 
Constance recoiled with a little exclamation of horror. 

“ Don’t touch me !” she cried, hastily. “ Why, you 
are black with dirt ! My dear Kit, how is it you are so 
dirty ?” 

“ Gooseberries are more or less grubby things,” Kit 
answered, as she put her objectionable hands behind 
her back. 

Constance finished herself at length to her satisfac- 
tion. 

“I must wear the dust cloak. Lady Sinclair has 
sent the victoria. I wish she had sent the brougham. 


LITTLE KIT. 


25 


Oh, by the way, Kit, why did you not tell me that Sir 
Philip Desmond called this morning 1 and gave the 
message ? I did not know it until I got her note just 
now. You should tell me these things.” 

“ Of course I would if I thought there was anything 
to tell, but I did not know who the man was. I scarcely 
saw him ; he might have been a footman or a butler, 
or any one, for aught I knew.” 

Constance smiled languidly. 

“ Silly little Kit,” she said, in the semi-affectionate, 
semi-contemptuous manner she always adopted toward 
her cousin ; “ not very flattering. Why, Sir Philip is 
supposed to be one of the handsomest men of the day.” 

“ Is he ?” Kit’s voice was almost as indifferent as 
Constance’s. “ Well, it ’s all the same to me. Are you 
off, Constie ? I am sure you ought to be very pleased 
with yourself, and I hope you will enjoy the party.” 

Constance picked up a snowy white sunshade, gave 
one farewell glance at herself, and turned to go. As 
she went she looked back. 

“ If you have nothing else to do, Kit,” she said, half 
laughing, “ why not have a bath ? I am sure it would 
improve you.” 

Kit laughed, too, but there was a little pain in the 
sound. 

“ How clever of you to guess so well ; the very thing 
I am just going to do. I want to have a good turn 
with my hair. I got it covered with cobwebs and 
goodness knows what, down in the gooseberry bushes 
this morning. When you see me next, Constie, you 
won’t know me, I shall be so beautiful.” 

Constance frowned a little at mention of Kit’s hair. 
Although she had no hesitation in indorsing Lady 
Hornton’s severe criticism of her cousin’s regrettable 
ugliness, she was no fool, and she knew that the mag- 


LITTLE KIT. 


nificent mass of copper-gold hair was something which 
would win the girl almost as much admiration as was 
lavished on herself, were the circle of Kit’s life to ex- 
pand and she were to be launched on the world in its 
fullest and most proper sense. 

She did not trouble herself in the least, as a rule, 
about Kit’s future. She tacitly accepted the presence 
of the orphan dependent on her mother’s bounty, not 
fretting against it, as Mrs. Marlowe did. 

She had grown accustomed to the girl, and, indeed, 
she would have missed her in a thousand small ways 
if anything had happened to take her away. Constance 
leaned back luxuriously in the carriage, and unfurled 
her sunshade. She was in a complacent mood as she 
drove along. 

It had been a source of great satisfaction to her 
when Lady Sinclair had come into the neighborhood. 

Lord Sinclair had never resided at Thicket Priory 
before his marriage, but his young wife had taken a 
fancy to the place, and had expressed a de§ire to use it 
as a country residence ; and, as a matter of course, what 
Lady Sinclair desired she obtained. 

Constance had met Lena Northwick several times 
during the latter’s first season, which had ended so 
triumphantly for her, and a sort of acquaintance had 
sprung up between them, which Lady Sinclair imme- 
diately resumed when she discovered Constance to be 
one of her neighbors round Thicket Priory, and Miss 
Marlowe was nothing loath to cultivate the chances so 
unexpectedly thrown in her way. Life was dull at 
The Limes ; and though Constance posed as the most 
sublime model of filial affection, she found her mother 
a very trying and unsatisfactory companion. 

There was no reason, in a pecuniary sense, why the 
Marlowes should not spend each spring and early sum- 


LITTLE KIT. 


27 


mer in London ; they were far from being in straitened 
circumstances — indeed, in the neighborhood around 
they were called rich — but Mrs. Marlowe had drifted 
into a species of austere melancholy. Except in the 
case of Constance, whom she worshiped as an earthly 
saint, not being in the very faintest degree acquainted 
with her daughter’s character or nature, she had not a 
glint of warmth or affection for any living soul or 
thing. 

Constance was very clever in her method of manag- 
ing her mother. There was very little she desired she 
did not obtain, and yet she always wore the guise of 
one who was absolutely subservient to an autocratic 
and selfish will, and there was hardly one person who 
knew anything about her home life who did not sym- 
pathize with her. 

It certainly was rather a strange thing that a girl so 
beautiful as Constance — young, and by no means pen- 
niless — should have lived so far without a husband. 

True, she was not very old, barely twenty-five ; but 
she had been out since her twentieth year, and her 
admirers were counted by legions, not dozens. 

Somehow or other, by the most careful and artful 
manipulation, she had always managed to get a few 
weeks in town during the season, and still no matri- 
monial prize was the result. 

This was the first season that had gone by without 
her making a short appearance in town. 

The presence of Baron Sinclair and his wife at 
Thicket Priory had changed the current of her ideas. 
She ceased planning and contriving to obtain the usual 
few weeks’ absence, and gave herself up to the task of 
cultivating the acquaintance between Lady Sinclair 
and herself into a friendship. 

It vras a lucky chance, she determined, that had 


28 


LITTLE KIT. 


induced Lady Sinclair’s doctor to decree an abso- 
lute cessation from a season’s gayeties for a time — a 
chance she would make the most of. 

There was always a stream of guests to and from 
Thicket Priory and town, and a most pleasant life was 
the result. Of all the guests, however, there was none 
whom it gave Miss Marlowe more pleasure to meet 
than Sir Philip Desmond ; and as she sat back in the 
luxurious carriage and recollected that it had been he 
who had taken the trouble to convey her friend’s mes- 
sage a few hours ago, the cold, emotionless thing which 
Constance called her heart had a thrill of expectancy 
and satisfaction which, though unusual, was not 
displeasing to her. 


LITTLE KIT. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ Now, Miss Katherine, if you just shake it out well 
all about your shoulders, it will dry in a very short 
time.” 

Kit sighed. Hair-washing was certainly a laborious 
undertaking on a hot afternoon. 

Kit arranged herself to look as respectable as possi- 
ble, although, as Hepsie had said, there was not 
much danger of her being seen by any one in the 
meadow. 

She carried her book and her hat in her hand, and 
she looked like some curious fairy creature as she 
walked slowly along in her blue cotton gown, her veil 
of wet hair giving forth glints of deep red gold as the 
sun fell upon it. 

It was a delicious afternoon, drowsy, hot, and 
peaceful. 

Kit shook out the long masses of hair to dry them as 
she went. She loved the air, and liked to feel the 
ground warm and moist beneath her feet. 

Down at the bottom of the kitchen garden stretched 
the meadow, and away under two trees Chris had 
stretched a short hammock, manufactured by his own 
hands, and given to his girl chum with much pride and 
delight. 

“ Not much reading for me to-day,” Kit said, as she 
reached this haven of rest and slung herself into the 
rope couch. “ Oh, how I bless thee, Chris !” She 
stretched out her slender limbs, and spread her hair 


30 


LITTLE KIT. 


above her, where the faint breeze could lift it and the 
sun play upon it. “ Dear Chris !” she went on, thinking 
as she stared up to the cloudless sky, and swung to and 
fro in a gentle, soothing fashion. 

It was so quiet dow’n here ; not a sound except the 
croak of a frog in the distance, and the murmuring 
movement of myriads of insects. Her book slipped 
out of her hand. The breeze lifted the long tresses of 
her wondrous hair ; but she was conscious of nothing 
— she had fallen fast asleep. 

Kit smiled in her sleep ; she was goingthrough some 
marvelous adventures, covering space and time with 
that miraculous celerity only to be found in dreams. 
Chris was with her, and she was absolutely happy. 

All at once she became conscious, in that vague sort 
of way that comes upon one just in the moment of 
awakening, that something was wrong — something 
that upset the serenity of her dream and produced a 
kind of uneasiness in her mind. She stirred sleepily, 
sighed, then opened her eyes and lifted her head. 

No. It had not been a dream, or her imagination. 
A voice was shouting most certainly — shouting in tones 
that, though strong, seemed to have a touch of pain in 
them. She sat up. The numbness of sleep was leav- 
ing her brain swiftly ; she could hear more distinctly. 
The voice seemed to be quite close to her now. She 
gathered her hair into her hands and gave it one big 
twist to keep it out of her eyes. 

“ What is it ? Who is calling ?” she cried, looking 
about her. “ Is anything wrong ? Does anybody want 
me ?” the girl cried, and she let her feet slip out of the 
hammock to the ground. 

A voice answered her so close that she started. 

“Well, considering I have been shouting for some- 
thing like the last half hour, I should imagine you 


LITTLE KIT. 


31 


would not find it difficult to understand that I do want 
you or somebody.” 

Kit stood and stared straight in front of her ; there, 
against the background of the ledge, sat a young man, 
clad in a light tweed suit, with no hat on his curly 
brown hair, and his two hands busily engaged in rub- 
bing his right leg and ankle, which, the girl’s quick 
eye saw immediately, were evidently giving him great 
pain. 

He had kicked off his boot, and his handsome face 
was rather pale. 

“ What’s the matter ?” Kit inquired. She picked up 
a piece of old ribbon she had brought out with her, and 
tied her hair securely behind her shapely head. “ You 
have hurt your foot, haven’t you ? How did you 
do it ?” 

She did not in the least resent his irritable tone. 
She saw he was in pain, and she had the keenest sym- 
pathy with all suffering. She advanced toward him. 

“ Let me help you,” she said, gently. 

The young man looked up at her. He had been so 
occupied in nursing his foot, he had not raised his eyes 
during his former speech. He paused now for an in- 
stant. 

The girl’s beauty — and at this moment Kit was beau- 
tiful — had the effect of softening his voice immediately. 

“ I am awfully sorry to trouble you, and I am afraid 
you must think me very rude for having disturbed you 
so unceremoniously. The fact is, I have been fool 
enough to jump this hedge. I lost my way, and 
thought I would see if this would lead me anywhere ; 
and, besides, I saw the hammock in the distance.” 

“ Please let me do something. Is it a sprain ?” she 
said, hurriedly. 

The young man did not answer for the moment. He 


32 


LITTLE KIT. 


went on rubbing- his ankle and his foot, which showed 
itself considerably swollen in its silken covering. 

He was a very smart and altogether unusual-looking 
young man. Kit had not met any one like him before. 

“ I don’t quite know what I have done,” he answered 
her, speaking with an effort, and that contraction still 
existing on his brows. “ I ought to have known I might 
do myself some harm. This leg and foot is so con — I 
mean so weak. I broke it about two years ago when I 
was out in the Soudan. I suppose it will always give 
me trouble.” 

“ I think you ought to have a bandage on. Doctor 
Bannerman is — ” and then Kit stopped. “ No, I expect 
he will be at the garden party.” 

“ You mean Lady Sinclair’s party ?” he queried. “ I 
was on my way there. Arrived at the station to find 
the carriages all gone, and not a cab or a fly or any- 
thing to be had. They told me it was only a mile or 
so; so, of course, I set out to walk. I — ” 

“ It is nearly four miles from Rockstone to the Priory,” 
Kit said. She was looking down at the swollen foot. 
“ I think I will go and fetch some water and arnica, 
and I will bring Hepsie. She is wonderful at these 
things.” 

Maurice Montgomery sat and watched her as she 
sped away, running as swiftly and as easily as a boy, 
and vanishing out of sight in an incredibly short space 
of time. 

“ What is she ?” he muttered to himself. “ She looks 
like an elf. And what hair ! I — ” and then Captain 
Montgomery began to regard himself in the light of a 
martyr. 

“Just like my luck to miss the early train and get 
stranded. Hope they can lend me a cart or something. 
Must get over to the Priory as soon as I can. Philip is 


KIT WATCHED HIM I.1FT THE RASKF.T WITH EYES OF ADMIRING AFFECTION. — See Pctf/e 11. 




41111 

* y ' ' 

4 

* m; rgt 

.*-■ 

/. 


#Sgf 










'•A 















i • ; • 































LITTLE KIT. 


33 


sure to know the ropes of the place and see I am all 
right. Hello, here she comes ! By Jove ! she can run [ 
What a funny, interesting, picturesque little sprite she 
is ! And this is my doctor, pro tem ., I suppose ?” 

Hepsie’s stout figure was toiling after Kit’s energetic 
one. The girl carried a basin and a bottle of water. 

“ Wisest way to bring it,” she said, as she came up to 
him and sank on her knees beside him. “ I haven’t 
spilled a drop. Hepsie has got the arnica.” Kit was 
full of business. “We had better take the sock off, 
don’t you think, Hepsie ?” she asked. 

Maurice smiled faintly at the methodical way she set 
about the matter. 

Kit was very sorry for him. 

“ I don’t know what you are going to do,” she said, in 
her frank way. “We have no carriage, and I don’t 
know how we can possibly get you a fly. They will all be 
at the Priory.” 

“ If I could send a message !” Captain Montgomery 
said, unwilling to show his annoyance. 

Kit wrinkled her brows. 

“ I — I think that could be managed,” she said ; “but 
you ought not to sit any longer ; the sun is going down 
and the dew will fall directly ; let us help you up. 
Oh, yes ; I assure you I am very strong ; you won’t 
hurt me, and then suppose you lean on Hepsie and 
walk as well as you can toward the house. I will see 
that a message goes to the Priory. You shall get there 
before very long.” 

She waited only to see him up, with Hepsie’s strong 
shoulder under his, and then she turned and ran away 
fleetly. 

He was in considerable pain, and Hepsie had to 
pause every now and then to let him pull himself to- 
gether. But when he had at length reached the lawn 


34 


LITTLE KIT. 


and had sunk into a chair breathless and grateful, 
Maurice remembered the girl, and he began to wonder, 
a little irritably, what had become of her. 

The sound of wheels broke on his ear. Hepsie had 
just brought him a little brandy and water. As he 
gave her back the glass, a fly came lumbering round 
the avenue with Kit inside — Kit with her hair tucked 
away under a big gardening hat, hot, disheveled and 
very tired ; her brilliant beauty faded for the moment. 

She stood by while the flyman and Hepsie helped 
the young man into the fly. 

He looked out of the window at her. 

“ Good-by, and • thank you so much. I feel I can 
never thank you for all you have done. We shall meet 
again soon, and then — ” the fly rolled slowly down 
the avenue between the limes, and Kit stood and 
looked after it. 

As the girl turned and followed Hepsie into the 
house, weary from a long, hot day and excitement, no 
instinct came to her to tell her she had stood face to 
face this one day with two men who would have the 
greatest influence on her young life. 


LITTLE KIT. 


35 


CHAPTER V. 

The glory of the garden party had waned, when the 
fly containing Captain Montgomery arrived in the 
grounds of the Priory. 

Lady Sinclair, as soon as she heard the news of the 
late arrival, came running across the lawn — a dainty, 
picturesque figure in her soft blue draperies. 

She asked a dozen questions all at once, and gave a 
dozen orders, and fussed over Maurice in a way that 
would have been particularly pleasant to him had he 
not been feeling too tired and in too much pain to ap- 
preciate it. In fact, it was a great relief to him when 
Sir Philip Desmond made his appearance on the scene. 

“ Get me up to a room somehow,” the young man 
whispered. 

It was characteristic of Sir Philip that everything 
he did was done very quietly, without any bother or 
fuss. 

In about ten minutes, Captain Montgomery found 
himself in a large, charming room, extended on a 
couch, his foot and ankle being carefully examined by 
his friend. 

“ Very neatly done,” Sir Philip said, as he looked at 
the bandages. “ I don’t fancy the local doctor could 
have done it better. You were in luck, Maurice.” 

Captain Montgomery smiled faintly. 

“ I had a fairy to attend to me — a fairy with sea- 
colored eyes, and hair that would delight Burne 
Jones !” 


36 


LITTLE KIT. 


The whole story was recounted. 

“And now 1 suppose I shall be a cripple for the next 
fortnight.” 

“You certainly must not try to use ycur foot in this 
condition !” was Sir Philip’s decisive answer. 

“ But I must get back to town to-morrow, Desmond 
— I must.” 

The pathetic look on the handsome face was almost 
comic. 

“ I have a hundred things to do, and, besides, I can’t 
burden Lady Sinclair.” 

“ Make your mind easy about Lena ; she will only be 
too delighted to keep you. I will send my man up to 
town first thing in the morning for your things, and my 
wardrobe is at your disposal till your own arrives.” 

“ When this doctor comes, I shall tell him I must go 
up to London to-morrow, somehow — it is imperative. 
Why, there will be the devil to pay if I don’t turn up 
to-morrow night at the regimental dinner, Desmond.” 

“ Well,” Sir Philip said, lighting a cigarette as he 
sauntered to and fro in the room, “ the devil will have 
to be paid in whatever coin he likes, for I prophesy 
that you will not be allowed to move from your present 
quarters under a week at least. What news -of your 
mother ? It is ages since I had a letter.” 

Captain Montgomery gave his friend such informa- 
tion as he desired in a listless, preoccupied way. His 
mind was running all the time on other matters. 

It was certainly very hard to have such an accident 
in the middle of the season, and to be thrust into a dose 
of country life — he who really detested the country, 
and who had been reveling in a vortex of social gayety. 

It was all very well for Philip Desmond to view the 
matter so cheerfully. Every one knew Desmond had 
developed into quite an old fogy. But Maurice Mont- 


LITTLE KIT. 


37 


gomery was composed of very different materials ; and 
then he was a good ten years Sir Philip’s junior, and 
that counted for a good deal. 

A little later, however, he began to feel better. The 
doctor had certainly vetoed all question of his return- 
ing to town for the next few days ; but after a little 
quiet conversation with Desmond, discussed over a 
most dainty and appetizing little dinner, Maurice be- 
gan to regard the matter more leniently ; and when 
Lady Sinclair came fluttering in, and hovered about 
him with a hundred pretty little evidences of the wom- 
anly interest he had inspired, he became quite good- 
tempered again. 

Philip Desmond unselfishly stayed upstairs all the 
evening ; but at last, when he had seen the young man 
comfortably ensconced in the luxurious bed, he went 
down to the gardens for a little air and a smoke. 

“ There is no getting a word from you, Philip, when 
your baby is near you,” Lady Sinclair cried, half 
lightly, half-earnestly, as he appeared. She was sitting 
on the lawn with one or two of her guests, and there 
were sundry couples dotted about in the distance. 

On a low chair close to Lady Sinclair sat Constance 
Marlowe. She wore no hat, and the moon shone down 
on her beautifully shaped head with its pretty brown 
hair waving away from the brows. She had changed 
her white dress to another of some gray, sheeny ma- 
terial. Her whole aspect gave one a sense of absolute 
peace. She harmonized well with the night. Sir 
Philip looked at her admiringly ; the moonlight soft- 
ened her face ; she lost the coldness which was, in his 
eyes, so great a blemish on her beauty. 

Lady Sinclair glanced every now and then at her 
friend with much admiration. 

“ If I were a man I should adore Constance Mar- 


38 


LITTLE KIT. 


lowe,” she said, in a low voice, to Sir Philip, apropos of 
nothing. 

He smiled, as he always did smile, at Lena's enthu- 
siasm. 

“ Where is your husband ?” he inquired. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ How can you ask ? Up in the tower, of course, 
looking through the telescope. I believe Robert 
fancies he will find a new star every night. He comes 
down looking as dazed as an owl, and shows me some 
pieces of paper with dots and lines on it, expecting me 
to understand what it means. As if I could under- 
stand !” 

“ Well, yes,” Sir Philip answered, quietly, “ it is 
rather silly of Robert to expect so much.” 

“Now, Philip, you are making fun of me. I won't 
have it. Go and talk to Constance, and please be very 
nice to her.” 

“ Am I ever anything else ?” Sir Philip asked, laugh- 
ingly, as he rose to obey her. 

Constance received him with the gentle, sweet smile 
she had cultivated to such perfection. 

“ I hope Captain Montgomery is better,” she said. 
She was not in the least interested in Maurice ; she had 
met him in the winter, when she had been in town for 
a few days, and, apart from the fact that he was a poor 
man, her vanity had been hurt by his most evident non- 
appreciation of her beauty. She was only interested in 
him now because she knew Sir Philip was very fond of 
the young man. It was generally understood that Des- 
mond was something in the light of a guardian to the 
handsome young soldier, the truth being that Sir 
Philip had a very strong attachment to Maurice's 
mother, and acted as a trustee and executor to the 
property inherited from her dead husband. He had 


LITTLE KIT. 


39 


much sincere affection for the boy who had done so 
well in the career he had chosen, and gradually he had 
drifted into accepting Maurice’s definition of him as 
the right one. To Maurice his friend was absolutely a 
middle-aged man whose life was lived and whose sun 
had set. 

This, in fact, was very far from the truth, but Mau- 
rice had a way of making Sir Philip feel very old, in- 
deed ; and somehow, when Maurice started an idea, 
every one else was sure to follow it. 

To Constance Marlowe, however, Sir Philip was 
neither old nor uninteresting ; he was a man who 
pleased her in every way. She admired his courtly, 
soldierly presence ; she recognized his extraordinary 
intellectual powers, though she was by no means equal 
to following them ; she had a sincere appreciation for 
his old title and social position, and his wealth was an 
additional and most desirable charm. She had no fixed 
plans in her head* concerning him, only she was con- 
scious of a decided feeling of annoyance if she saw him 
absorbed in any one else, and she had a little flutter of 
satisfaction whenever she saw him come toward her as 
he did now. 

They talked over Maurice, and Sir Philip waxed en- 
thusiastic, as he always did when he spoke of the boy’s 
exploits out in foreign parts. 

“ It is not every youngster who can show such a 
record as Maurice Montgomery can,” he said. “ I con- 
fess I did not think there was so much in him ; and he 
is a funny mixture, for now he is home again there is 
very little of the soldier about him.” 

“ Fighting is the one strong seed that is rooted firmly 
in every Englishman’s heart,” Constance said, laughing 
in her soft way. 

She turned her face from him, so that he might see 


40 


LITTLE KIT. 


her delicate profile, and the shell-like ear that was so 
distinctly one of her attractions. 

“Yes, I suppose we are a nation of bull-dogs, peace- 
able until we are roused, and then — ” Sir Philip 
laughed. 

“ I like to feel my countrymen can hold their own,” 
Constance said. “ I always wish I had been a man. 
Women are so useless.” 

She said this with a touch of the most sincere regret 
in her voice. As a matter of fact, Constance Marlowe 
had not the faintest desire to change places with any 
living soul ; and as regarded being of use in the world — 
well, she did not understand the meaning of the word. 

Sir Philip sat down on the edge of a chair, and 
crossed one leg over another. He looked very distin- 
guished in his evening dress. 

His only ornament was a charm that had escaped 
from his waistcoat pocket, and dangled and glimmered 
in the moonlight. 

Constance looked at it carefully. She had noted it 
before, and she wondered why he wore it, and if it were 
a souvenir of some tender dream now dead. Decidedly 
she was interested in him in more than a passing 
fashion. 

He answered her heartily and quickly. 

“ Oh, I never think a woman should regret being a 
woman. Think of the thousand and one things she can 
do that are absolutely beyond us. Fighting for one’s 
country is very fine, but woman’s work is purer, better, 
more noble in every way. We are so helpless without 
you. Now take to-day, for instance ; where would 
Maurice have been but for the tender, clever ministra- 
tions of your sister ?” 

He said the last word half questioningly. Constance 
answered swiftly : 


LITTLE KIT. 


41 


“ I have no sister and then she frowned ; but her 
face was turned from him. “ Did Captain Montgomery 
go to The Limes, then ?” she asked. 

Sir Philip told her all that had happened. 

“ And extraordinarily well she did it, too,” he said, 
when he came to Kit’s share in the matter. “Your 
local doctor would not disturb her bandages. Now, there 
is a distinct evidence of a woman’s usefulness.” There 
was a little pause. “ I fancy I must have seen Mau- 
rice’s young Samaritan when I called this afternoon to 
leave Lena’s message.” 

“ I expect you did,” Constance said. “ It is my little 
cousin — a dear little soul ; she lives with us. She is an 
orphan.” 

A good deal of information was conveyed in these 
words to Sir Philip. 

“ An orphan and a dependent,” he thought to him- 
self. “ Poor child — not the happiest fate in the world.” 

“Kit is a most wonderful creature,” Constance went 
on, laughing softly. “ She is most learned in every 
way. I tell her she will make a model farmer’s wife 
one of these days, and I believe really that is her ambi- 
tion ; it was so like her to turn doctor. I shall have a 
good laugh at her when I get home.” 

Sir Philip was not listening very intently to the end 
of the speech. 

“A farmer’s wife, Miss Marlowe ?” he said, quoting 
her words. “ Oh, surely such a face, such beauty de- 
serves some higher fate !” 

Had any one given Constance Marlowe a sudden 
dagger thrust the effect could not have been more hor- 
rible and painful. She could hardly breathe for a mo- 
ment. A thousand feelings and emotions, such as she 
had never imagined had place in her heart, sprang all 
at once into being. 


42 


LITTLE KIT. 


It was the first time she had actually realized the 
meaning- of the word jealousy. She suffered acutely in 
this moment. 

When she spoke, however, her voice was unchanged. 
She possessed the art of self-restraint to a high degree. 

“ What ! You really think our little Kit — a beauty, 
Sir Philip ?” 

Sir Philip answered promptly, and for once forgetful 
of the tact that was so much a part of him. 

“ Almost the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. 
How could it be otherwise with such eyes ? They have 
haunted me all day, I assure you. I think I must have 
stared the poor child out of countenance when I saw 
her to-day. Her appearance positively bewildered 
me !” 

He spoke with enthusiasm, and Constance grew icy 
as she heard him. What horrible thing was this that 
had come upon her suddenly ? Her face grew cold and 
hard in the moonlight, but she managed to keep her 
voice as soft and gentle as ever. 

“Why, Sir Philip, you are a poet ! You have quite 
idealized my little Kit. It shows how familiarity blunts 
one’s true appreciation. Now you put facts before me, 

I see almost with your eyes. Yes, Kit has beauty. 
Her hair is marvelous, extraordinary, and she has such 
a quantity. You must see it all down some day. I 
always regard her as a baby,” Constance went on, 
laughing, “ and she runs about just as she likes, as a 
wild thing. I suppose that is why I never realized her 
true worth. Poor little Kit ! I am almost tempted to 
wish you had not given me this idea, Sir Philip. I am 
so fond of her, and beauty is not always the best thing 
that can come to a woman,” and Constance sighed as 
though she could testify to the truth of this fact. 

“ Tell me about her,” Philip Desmond said. “ Has 


LITTLE KIT. 


43 


she a history ? She looks as though there should be 
some story connected with her.” 

“ Only a very ordinary, everyday story. Kit’s history 
is to come, if she ever has one.” 

And then Constance gave her own version of her 
cousin’s parentage and early life. She was clever at 
this sort of thing. 

“ My mother calls her her second child, and to me 
she is as a sister,” she finished. 

“ You must be glad to have her with you, Miss Mar- 
lowe, are you not ?” Sir Philip said warmly. 

Constance acquiesced with gentle enthusiasm, and 
then she gave a sigh of relief as Lady Sinclair came 
floating across to them. 

“ What serious subject are you discussing, you two ?” 
she cried, as she rested her jeweled hand on Constance’s 
shoulder. 

The latter answered her laconically : 

“ We are discussing Kit’s beauty.” 

Lady Sinclair gave a scream. 

“ Kit — your cousin — beauty ! Why, my dear Con- 
stance, the child is a monster. Do forgive me. I don’t 
want to hurt your feelings, but she is really very, very 
plain.” 

Constance could have embraced the speaker. 

“ Beware how you give forth such heretical senti- 
ments before Sir Philip,” she laughed. “ He has con- 
verted me.” 

“ Oh ! but ” — Lady Sinclair could not recover her- 
self — “ what can you be thinking of, Philip ? What 
funny tastes you men have, to be sure !” 

“ Well,” Philip Desmond said laughingly, and yet 
earnestly, “ my taste as far as Miss Kit is concerned is 
one that will be indorsed by every man who sees her. 
You may take that for granted, Lena.” 


44 


LITTLE KIT. 


Lady Sinclair threw out her hands. 

“Well, then, I give your sex up altogether. I don’t 
understand you. I positively cannot. No, I cannot. 
No doubt, Kit is a dear, good little sort, but she is 
simply hideous. And I have always said so, haven’t I, 
Constance ?” 

“You are a person of strong prejudices,” Constance 
laughed, and then she rose to go, 

“ I really must take my departure, dear Lena,” she 
said. “ Look how late it is. Mamma will be getting 
anxious.” 

“ Philip will see you home, won’t you, Philip ? It 
will be a pleasant drive.” 

Of course Sir Philip immediately seconded the idea, 
but Mis Marlowe would not hear of it. 

“ I am quite sure Sir Philip would have the most un- 
kind ideas of me if I were so selfish,” she cried, laugh- 
ingly. “ Fancy taking him all the way ! No, I cannot 
permit it. I dare say I shall go to sleep in the cab, for 
I am very tir'ed.” 

She was escorted with much care and courtesy to her 
waiting vehicle ; and as Sir Philip took her hand in 
farewell, he begged to be allowed’ to call at The Limes 
the next day for a chat and a cup of tea. 

Lady Sinclair kissed her friend. 

“ Do ask Mrs. Marlowe to spare you for a few days, 
dear,” she pleaded. “ It would be so sweet of you to 
come over and stay with me. Can’t you manage it 
somehow, Constance ?” 

“ I must not neglect mamma, Lena. You know how 
much I should love to be with you, but, if I can, I will 
come, dear,” and with a farewell flutter of her white 
hand, Constance was driven away. 

“ She is an angel !” Lady Sinclair cried, enthusias- 
tically, as she slipped her arm through Sir Philip’s, and 


LITTLE KIT. 


45 


they went back to the chairs. “ So good and so un- 
selfish, and so beautiful !” 

The “ angel ” sat bolt upright in the village fly, heed- 
less for once of its many discomforts. She had had a 
blow, and she did not know how to bear it for the mo- 
ment. 

Her eyes went out through the window to the moon- 
lit scene around, but its beauties were lost on her. She 
Was thinking of a multitude of things. Her serenity, 
her sense of sovereignty and power were utterly 
shaken ; and all this had come upon her so swiftly, so 
unexpectedly. 

Her thoughts grew very bitter as she neared her 
home. The touch of her mother that was in her be- 
came accentuated. She felt a cold, deep anger settling 
itself in her heart, and a sense of injury. 

It was an evil moment for Kit, this change in her 
cousin’s feelings toward her. 

Constance Marlowe was not a woman to treat such 
an experience as had come to her this night lightly or 
easily. She had been hurt in her most vital part, and 
she would never forgive the cause of the blow. 

Kit’s history was indeed and in truth about to 
begin. 


46 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Mrs. Marlowe’s voice was occupied the next morning 
in the (to her) congenial task of objecting to her niece. 
She was sitting in her straight-backed chair examining 
a pile of linen which Kit had been supposed to darn. 

Mrs. Marlowe’s voice was more than acrimonious ; 
she had no good word for the work, and she ended her 
disparaging remarks by taking out a sharp pair of 
scissors and cutting every mended portion that had 
cost Kit so much time and trouble. 

“ Be good enough to bring these to me to-night,” she 
said, curtly, as she pushed the work toward the girl. 

Kit’s face looked troubled ; she disliked openly vex- 
ing her aunt ; but she was too frank and truthful not 
to speak her mind. 

“ I am very sorry, Aunt Helen ; but I am quite sure 
I cannot do them any better. I tried my best, but I 
cannot darn properly.” 

“ It is time you learned !” Mrs. Marlowe said, coldly. 
She took up her book — a religious one — and settled her 
spectacles on her face. “ Girls in your position, Kath- 
erine, should know that there are some things they 
must do. Your perception, however, grows dimmer 
and dimmer, and gratitude I have ceased to expect. 
You do not know the meaning of the word.” 

Kit’s face flushed, and her lips quivered. 

“ If gratitude is to be expressed in darning, Aunt 
Helen,” she said, quietly, but with a mischievous glint 
in her eyes that she could not repress — humor and 


LITTLE KIT. 


47 


pathos were large elements in her composition— then, 
indeed, I am afraid you are right to believe I am un- 
grateful, for — ” 

Mrs. Marlowe looked at the girl out of her cold eyes. 
For once she lost her self-control in anger. 

“ You are impertinent ! I begin to grow weary of 
struggling with such a bad nature ; you will bring 
nothing but shame and disgrace upon us. I have borne 
with you a long time ; I have tried to be patient, and 
have prayed for strength to bear the burden thrust upon 
me ; but there is a limit — I can endure no longer ! 
Leave me, leave me at once !” 

Kit paused an instant. Her face had grown white ; 
she suddenly spoke : 

“You are a cruel woman !” she said, in low tones. 
“ You call yourself good — you are not good ! • You give 
me bread to eat, and you try to kill my heart ! Ah, 
you think I am made of stone, but I am not ; I am flesh 
an blood, like you. The words you have just spoken 
will never be forgotten by me. I will end this matter 
at once and for all. You shall be troubled with me no 
longer.” 

Mrs. Marlowe stretched out her hand suddenly to her 
daughter. Constance had come in very quietly, and 
was listening with astonished ears. 

“ Kit ! Mother !” she said. 

Kit turned at her voice. 

“ Oh, Constie ! Constie !” There was a little break 
in her voice. 

Mrs. Marlowe was in a furious rage ; she lost her 
habitual coldness ; she lost her religious restraint ; she 
opened her heart and launched all the bitterness and 
cruelty within it on the head of the girl who stood be- 
fore her defenseless and alone. 

Constance felt a thrill of pleasure in this suffering ; 


48 


LITTLE KIT. 


it was a small return for the night of discomfort she 
had passed ; but her mother’s anger jarred on her. 

Kit bore with the horrible insult as long as she 
could, then she turned swiftly and went from the room. 
At the door she turned and put out her hand. 

“ From to-day,” she said, quietly, deliberately, “ I ac- 
cept nothing more from you. I leave your house, and 
I pray God you may never see me again !” 

Constance paused only a moment beside her mother, 
who had worked herself into a hysterical fit, then rang 
the bell and went after Kit. 

Her heart was beating fast. This was a new com- 
plication of affairs. That Kit should go away was 
decidedly satisfactory ; but, then, Constance was prac- 
tical. A dozen things rushed into her mind at once, 
and besides, all this upset the neat arrangement of 
plans she had been making as she lay awake in the 
early hours. 

She ran up the stairs to Kit’s room, somewhere in 
the roof ; she had never troubled herself to ascend so 
far before. She knocked at the door ; there was no 
answer. She tried to turn the handle ; the door was 
locked. 

“ Kit ! Kit ! It is I, Constie. Let me in, dear.” 

There was no answer at first. 

Constance again tapped at the door. 

“ Kit, Kit, dear, you must not refuse to see me !” 

Another pause, and then the door was opened, and 
Kit stood before her cousin. 

“ What do you want, Constance ?” she asked, coldly. 
She seemed a changed being — a woman full of dignity 
and grace. Constance felt the change and frowned a 
little. j 

“ I want to talk to you,” she said, as she went into 
the room. 


LITTLE KIT. 


49 


“Why will you quarrel with mamma, Kit?” Con- 
stance said, plaintively. 

Kit shivered and was silent. 

“ You know she is difficult, but — ” 

“ Your mother is a wicked woman !” Kit said, coldly, 
quietly. “ She has said things to me to-day that I can 
never forgive — never forgive ! Let us say no more. 
I am sorry if you are troubled, Constance, but there 
are some things one can bear, and some one cannot. 
My life here is one of the latter. I have ended it.” 

“ But what will you do ? You have no money; where 
can you go ?” Constance spoke irritably ; she dreaded 
any sort of a scandal, and she knew her mother’s un- 
popularity. 

“ I am going to the rector. He knows me, and will 
help me to get some living.” 

Constance forgot every other feeling in her sudden 
alarm. 

“ Kit ! you cannot do this. Think of the disgrace !” 

“ I shall only be fulfilling your mother’s words,” she 
answered. 

Constance bit her lip. At all hazards this action 
must be stopped. What ! Let the whole county into 
the secrets of life at The Limes ? She knew that Kit 
was greatly liked by every one round about, and that 
there were many who knew the girl’s story, and the 
dislike with which she was regarded by her aunt. And 
then this would mean that, in all probability, the rector’s 
wife would offer the girl a temporary home, and her 
value would be increased by the sympathy that would 
be showered upon her. Constance’s heart beat very 
fast. She must prevent all this. She rose and went to 
the girl. 

“ Kit, do you care for me ?” she asked. 

The girl gave a quick sigh. 


50 


LITTLE KIT. 


“You know I do,” she answered; “and I am very 
sorry to — ” 

“Then,” Constance said, her arms about the slender 
figure, her eyes looking up at the set, young face — 
“ then you will do something to please me, darling ?” 

Kit thrilled at the tender word and tender touch. 

“ If — if it is not — ” she began, uncertainly. Poor 
child ! She was not used to so much affection. 

Constance saw that she had won. 

“ I am not going to ask you to do anything very 
hard. I know all you are feeling. I see, I know, life 
here is very difficult for you. I have been sorry for 
you for a long time, and I will help you all I can, dear, 
only — only you must be a little patient, and promise 
me, however angry you are with my mother, you will 
not turn against me, and — ” 

“ Oh, Constance !”* Tears were starting in Kit’s 
glorious eyes, and her whole frame trembled. “ You 
know I will do nothing to hurt you. You are so good. 
1 see, now, you do care for me. I — I have sometimes 
thought you did not ; but you will forgive me, won’t 
you ? I have made a great mistake.” 

“ Care for you, dear little Kit ? Why, of course, I do; 
and I will be your best friend — your sister. Now we 
must think what is best to be done. You cannot go to 
the rector — for many reasons. You understand, dear ?” 
Constance was herself again. “We must keep our 
troubles to ourselves, and if you really must go — if you 
cannot live here — really cannot-*-' 

“ Oh, Constie, I cannot ! I cannot ! You see, you 
know how I feel ! It is impossible ! Help me to do 
something for myself. I put myself in your hands. 
You will help me ?” 


LITTLE KIT. 


51 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ I will help you," Constance answered, gently. She 
was beginning to feel a little contempt for herself for 
having allowed herself to be so troubled even for half 
an hour about this girl, with her pallid, strained face, 
her tear-stained eyes and general ugliness. But, all the 
same, she did not forget Sir Philip’s words, and as 
matters had now developed, she could not help con- 
gratulating herself on the events that were to take the 
girl out of her life, and so dismiss any further prospect 
of annoyance about her. 

“ Now, follow my advice ; put on your hat and go 
out for the day with Chris Hornton. He is down in the 
garden waiting for you. Stay out quite late, and I will 
come up and talk with you to-night when you are home. 
Mamma will not see you, and you can be happy in 
knowing that I shall be thinking of the best plan to 
help you to independence, and, I hope, happiness. 
Poor little Kit !” 

Kit kissed the two small hands she held. 

“ Oh, Constie, how good you are to me ! I shall 
never forget it, never, never ; and perhaps some day — 
who knows ?— I shall be able to repay you. I pray I 
may. Oh, I pray I may !” 

The emotion in her heart glorified her face into 
sudden beauty. Constance grew a shade colder. 

“Now run away and trust to me. By to-night I 
shall have thought of some plan, and will tell you all 
about it.” 


52 


LITTLE KIT. 


She kissed Kit with her false, pretty lips, and she led 
the girl down to the garden, where Chris was waiting 
patiently, whistling in a minor key. 

Constance watched the boy and the girl go down the 
path and out of sight ; then she turned indoors with a 
sigh of satisfaction. 

“ Sir Philip will not see his beauty to-day, at all 
events,” she said to herself, as she went to her mother's 
room to offer such consolation as she could think of ; 
“ nor any other day,” she added with earnestness, “ if I 
manage things well, and I don’t think I shall fail. A 
few tender words, and I can twist the young fool which 
way I like. What good fate was it that made this open 
rupture between them to-day of all days ? Had it not 
come, it might have been very difficult to have dis- 
posed of Kit ; but as it is — ” Constance shrugged her 
shoulders and then entered her mother’s room. 

Sir Philip Desmond was extremely disappointed, 
when he called at The Limes, to find no trace of his 
little witch anywhere. He inquired of Constance for 
her almost immediately, as they sauntered to and fro 
on the lawn under the trees. 

“ Oh, Kit ! I believe she is somewhere in the garden. 
Shall we try to find her, or is it too hot ?” 

“I don’t feel the sun,” Sir Philip said, frankly ; he 
had travelled in foreign parts so much, heat was noth- 
ing to him ; “ but it is a different thing with you.” 

He glanced as he spoke at her delicate beauty. She 
certainly was extremely pretty, so fair and gentle. 

The thought passed through his mind that she would 
make a charming wife for some man, not for himself. 
He had no intention of marrying, and Constance, though 
he admired her, was not altogether sympathetic to him. 
He had a keener sense of interest in her at this mo- 
ment than he had as yet experienced. 


LITTLE KIT. 


53 


She was so graceful, and he approved of the way she 
wore her hair. Her beauty was of the conventional 
stamp that pleased in a mild manner, but was not cal- 
culated to inspire any enthusiasm whatever. 

“ I think I see a way out of the difficulty,” Constance 
said. She beckoned to a gardener to come across the 
lawn toward them, and then inquired if Miss Kit was 
anywhere to be found. 

“ I seed her agoin’ through the meadow wi’ the 
young squire, Miss Constance, a good two hours agone 
now or more.” 

Constance dismissed the man with her most gracious 
manner, and then laughed. 

“ Ah, I see now why she is not here. Some wild ex- 
cursion with her inseparable friend, young Chris 
Hornton.” 

“ The boy who was at the garden party yesterday 
and looked so unhappy ?” Sir Philip said, smiling at his 
recollection of Chris’s melancholy face. 

“ The same.” Constance sank into a chair, and Sir 
Philip followed her example and took another. “ He 
and Kit are bosom friends, and have the most mysteri- 
ous adventures together. I don’t know what they will 
do when they are separated.” 

“ And is that inevitable ?” Philip Desmond could not 
well have analyzed the feeling that prompted him to 
discuss the small events and interests of this girl’s life. 

“ Oh, I am afraid so. Lady Hornton has set her 
heart on Chris’s going to the bar. One cannot quite 
conjecture what the result of this is likely to be, for 
Chris does not strike one as a brilliant boy ; but we 
must make allowance for maternal pride.” 

“ The most pardonable pride in the world,” Sir 
Philip said with a smile. “ And so Miss Kit is to lose 
her chum ? Poor child ! No doubt she will suffer a 


54 


LITTLE KIT. 


good deal ; our early griefs are always so hard to 
bear.” 

“ Kit is not such a baby,” Constance observed. Any 
one skilled in understanding her face would have seen 
she was fretting under some annoyance. Indeed, this 
persistence with which Sir Philip Desmond would dis- 
cuss Kit was absolutely objectionable to Constance, and 
irritated her almost beyond endurance. “ She is 
eighteen or nineteen, I almost forget which.” 

“As old as that !” Sir Philip exclaimed. “Why, I 
took her for a child. She will be coming out directly, 
then, I suppose ?” 

Constance bent to rearrange her skirts ; her cheeks 
flushed a little. 

“ Not immediately,” she answered ; and all at once 
an idea came to her, a veritable inspiration. “ In fact, 
my mother has determined that Kit must have at least 
one year at a good school before she makes her debut 
in the world. She really needs it, for she has been 
given so much freedom that she has grown up almost 
like a wild thing ; and you know, Sir Philip,” with a 
pretty assumption of maternity, “ how badly the world 
understands unconventionality, and how hardly our 
poor little Kit would fare if she were allowed to mingle 
with it in her present untrammeled mental state.” 

“ Why should she go into the world at all ? Why not 
keep her young, and pure, and fresh all her life ? Why 
let the moth of society eat into her wholesome, healthy 
soul ?” 

Constance laughed softly, and swayed her foot to 
and fro. 

“You object to a farmer husband. Sir Philip. I am 
afraid you are hard to please.” 

He looked round and laughed too. 

“ The fact is, Miss Marlowe, I am an old-fashioned 


LITTLE KIT. 


55 


hulk, and quite behind the times. I never did care for 
what the world said, and I don’t think I ever shall care. 
I love nature. You understand me, I know, although 
you probably don’t agree with me.” 

“ Ah, but indeed I do,” Constance said, quickly and 
softly. 

She seized on anything that would lead the conver- 
sation on to general subjects, and permit her to bring 
it skillfully round to more personal ones. 

She talked on in her gentle manner, and while she 
talked she was thinking. 

That suggestion of Kit's going to school was decid- 
edly very, very good. It would be the best explanation 
to give to every one, and no one would know the 
truth. 

She had no very definite plans as to what Kit should 
really do ; but her brain was fertile, and something 
would develop before many hours had gone. 

One thing was most certain, that Constance was as 
eager that her cousin should go as that cousin was 
eager to put an end to her life of dependence and bit- 
terness. 

Sir Philip sat chatting a long time. It was very 
pleasant out under the shade of the old trees, with the 
scent of the limes wafted to them on the hot air ; and 
Constance was a charming companion. Without being 
a deep thinker in the faintest sense of the word — as a 
matter of fact, indeed, being a woman of the most 
superficial intellect — s ;e nevertheless had some clever- 
ness, and one of her chief claims to this lay in the fact 
that she could disguise her lack of knowledge in the 
most astute way, and appear to be something very dif- 
ferent from what she really was. 

Sir Philip found her an intelligent and pretty person, 
and by the time he rose to go back to the Priory, Con- 


56 


LITTLE KIT. 


stance felt that she had made a decided gain in his good 
opinion. 

“ By to-morrow he will have forgotten Kit’s very ex- 
istence. He only remembers her now because she 
struck him as being unconventional and picturesque, 
and pleased his artistic eye,” she said to herself. 

Constance could not refrain from a feeling of con- 
tempt for the eye that could be so easily pleased ; but, 
on the whole, she was more than satisfied with the re- 
sult of Sir Philip’s visit, and she sat a long time conjur- 
ing up possibilities of the future. 

She was resolved to accept Lady Sinclair’s invitation 
to go to the Priory. 

The opportunities that offered themselves in this 
visit were too good to be allowed to escape her. But 
first she must arrange something about Kit. 

She sat another hour under the trees, thinking and 
thinking, and rose at last with a clear brow and her 
mind at rest. 

She had thought out a plan, and within the next 
twenty-four hours Kit would be well away from The 
Limes and the place that had been her home for so 
many years. 

******* 

Kit was sitting perched up on her shabby bed when 
her cousin knocked at her door. It was after ten, and 
the moon was shining in through the small, narrow 
window. 

Constance took the only chair in the room. 

“ I have thought of everything — that is, if you are 
still determined to go, Kit.” 

“ I am determined,” the girl answered, quietly. 

“ Have you said anything to Chris Hornton ?” Con- 
stance asked, suddenly. 

It would be very awkward if she were to give forth 


LITTLE KIT. 


57 


one story of her cousin’s absence and Chris were to 
furnish another. 

Kit shook her head. 

“ No,” she answered. 

“ Are you sure ?” Constance was not easily convinced. 

Kit looked at her cousin a little coldly. 

“ I have told Chris nothing.” 

Constance made no reply, but unfolded a telegram. 

“ You have heard me speak of Lady Grace Leith. 
This telegram is from her. She wrote to me the other 
day, asking me if I knew of any girl in the country who 
would be glad to take a situation as a sort of under 
lady’s-maid ; some one to do sewing and that sort of 
thing. I told her, when I wrote, I would make inqui- 
ries ; and 1 was going to write her again to-day, and 
tell her I could hear of nothing, when — ” Constance 
stopped, then went on a little hurriedly : “ I sent her a 
telegram this afternoon, telling her that if the place 
was still vacant I could send her up some one. Her 
answer is that she will be glad to receive any one I can 
recommend thoroughly. I did not tell her who you 
were, or let her imagine you were my — ” 

Constance stopped again. 

Kit had listened in absolute silence, not even moving. 
She was sitting bunched up on the bed, her chin in her 
two hands, and the moonlight falling on her head and 
touching her pale, thoughtful face. 

“ Of course,” Constance said, coldly, for the girl’s 
beauty was not to be denied in this moment, “ of course, 
I only put this offer before you. I — ” 

“ You are very kind,” the young voice was full of 
weariness. “I am much obliged to you, Constance.” 

Constance rustled the telegram to and fro. Now 
that she had set her mind on Kit’s going, she was irri- 
tated by the girl’s subdued manner. Perhaps, after a 


58 


LITTLE KIT. 


long day, Kit had thought over things, and had deter- 
mined to bear with her aunt a little longer. If so, Con- 
stance was reassured almost immediately. 

“ Does Lady Grace say she can receive me soon ?” 
Kit asked. 

“ To-morrow. Here is her telegram ; you can see 
for yourself.” 

Kit read the message and gave it back without a 
word. 

“ You will want some money, of course. I will lend 
it to you, and you can repay me out of your salary when 
you get it,” Constance said, generously. “ There will 
be your fare to town, and you may, perhaps, have to 
buy some things. I don’t know what clothes you have.” 

“I have enough for the requirements of a house- 
maid,” Kit said, quietly, and her words annoyed Con- 
stance, though a glance at the girl’s face set aside the 
idea that there was any sneer intended in them. 

“You must remember, Kit,” she said next, in her 
coldest fashion, “ that this idea of your going out into 
the world is your own doing. I hope, if trouble comes 
of it, you will not forget this, and you will not blame 
me.” 

Kit looked across at her cousin. 

“ I don’t think you need say this, Constance. I am 
never likely to blame you. I shall always be grateful 
to you for helping me when 1 wanted help so badly 
and did not know where to find it.” 

“Then,” Constance said, rising, “ then you have de- 
cided to go ?” 

“ Yes, I have decided to go.” 

“ Shall you tell mamma of your intention T' 

Kit’s face colored. 

“ I will never willingly see your mother again,” she 
answered, very quietly. 


LITTLE KIT. 


59 


“ Then you leave it to me to tell her ?” 

“ You may say what you think best.” 

“ And what about Chris ?” 

“ Chris ?” 

Kit looked up. 

“ Do you mean to tell him where you are ? Shall you 
write to him ?” 

Kit shook her head. 

“ No,” she said, sorrowfully. “ It is all over between 
Chris and me now. I shall not write to him ; there can 
be nothing - in common between us now,” and then Kit 
put out her hand. “ Thank you, Constance. You have 
been very good to me. I shall not forget it. Without 
you I don’t know what I should have done ; I could not 
have got away ; and to live on here after — ” She 
stopped with a shiver. “ Ah, it would have been im- 
possible ; it would have been worse than death. Good- 
by, Constance ; from to-day we are no longer cousins. 
I go out of your life. I shall cease to be Katherine 
Marlowe. I shall be simple Kate Lowe, a woman 
earning her bread in an honest but humble fashion. 
Please let me go away very quietly. Say what you 
like when I am gone. I would not like the truth to be 
known, not for my sake,” rearing her head proudly ; 
“ I shall not be ashamed of my work — but for your sake 
and your mother’s. If Aunt Helen says harsh things 
of me, Constance, tell her I am not ungrateful. I shall 
always remember how she took me in and gave me a 
home when I was a little child. It is not ingratitude 
that sends me away now, only the feeling that I have 
lived on here quite long enough. I am' not a child 
now, I am a woman, and I do not desire to be a burden 
to any one.” 

Constance took the hand offered. The girl’s absolute 
dignity, the grace with which she bore herself, thq 


60 


LITTLE KIT. 


quiet acceptance of a fate which, though humble, could 
not humiliate her, aroused once again the flame of Con- 
stance’s narrow, selfish heart. She knew she had 
stooped to gratify the meanest feelings in seeking such 
an opening for her cousin as this situation as under- 
maid. There could have been some other way had she 
desired to find it, but she had only one desire — to get 
rid of Kit, and to let her suffer all that was possible in 
return for the mauvais qtiart-d'heure she had been, so 
unconsciously, the cause of giving to Constance. 

They parted with that hand-clasp and a few words 
of arrangement for the morrow. If Kit had any yearn- 
ing for a little womanly sympathy and affection, she 
let none of it appear in her face. If she had winced at 
the proposal that Constance had so coldly and calmly 
laid before her, she made no sign. It was not the help 
she would have given had she been in Constance’s 
place. But Kit’s nature was above all petty feelings ; 
though she had shrunk at first from the new life offered 
to her, she was none the less grateful to the hand that 
was stretched out to draw her away from the misery of 
her present existence. 

It had often been very, very hard to bear, but never, 
until this day, had Mrs. Marlowe let the full bitterness 
of her dislike have free vent. The sneers that had been 
often pointed at her dead parents had never taken the 
form of horrible insults till now. Had her aunt ever 
spoken the words before that she uttered this day, Kit 
would have sought long ago to have done that which 
she was now about to do. 

She sat far into the night thinking and thinking. 
Her face was very sad, and she had an ache in her 
heart that was inexpressible. With all her sorrows and 
shadows in this life she was leaving, there had been 
joys ; her friendship with Chris, which must end now 


LITTLE KIT. 


61 


forever ; an attachment to one or two animals about 
the place ; Hepsie, who she knew loved her in her own 
rough fashion, and a few outside people who had taken 
an interest in her from the very first ; to leave these 
would be a w T rench. 

In the case of Chris, she hardly dared let herself think 
of the pain she would suffer ; and then, beyond and 
apart from this, was the new world that stretched before 
her. She would be free. She would be independent. 
Yes, that was almost a happiness ; but wdio could say 
if she would not meet with even greater sorrow than 
that she w r as leaving behind ? 

Her heart was very full ; she had no thought of 
changing her determination, yet it was but natural that, 
as she realized absolutely all that had happened and 
w r as happening, she should fling herself face forward on 
the bed and burst into a passion of tears. 


62 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Constance duly made her appearance at the Priory 
two days later. She excused herself for not having 
immediately accepted Lady Sinclair’s invitation by 
reason of her mother’s illness. 

“ The fact is,” she confided to Lady Sinclair, when 
they were alone for a moment, “ there was a little quar- 
rel between Kit and mamma, and it upset mamma very 
much. I don’t think Kit wanted to go to school ; in 
fact, she said so in her own peculiar fashion, which is 
not the most polished in the world, and the result was 
not pleasant.” 

Lady Sinclair was never particularly interested in 
Kit. She had considered her a very plain girl, and then 
had dismissed her from her mind. However, she was 
interested now. 

“ How annoying ! I detest quarrels ! And what has 
happened ? Has she gone to school ?” 

“Yes. She went yesterday. Poor little Kit ! I am 
afraid she will not be very happy just at first.” 

“ Well, I should think you must be glad to get rid of 
her,” was Lady Sinclair’s frank confession. “ I know 
I should be. People with red hair have always got 
horrid tempers.” 

And with that the subject dropped. At lunch, how- 
ever, Lady Sinclair suddenly addressed Sir Philip. She 
had a good spice of mischief in her nature, and loved 
to tease any one. 

“ So sorry for you, Philip ! You may as well pack up 


LITTLE KIT. 


63 


your portmanteau. Your beauty has left the neighbor- 
hood.” 

Constance, never expecting Lady Sinclair would 
give the question of Kit a second thought, colored a 
little. 

Sir Philip looked mystified. He had been discussing 
some military question with Captain Montgomery, who 
had left his room for the first time, and, in fact, was 
given permission to take his departure to town when 
he liked. 

“ Beauty ! What beauty ?” he asked Lady Sinclair. 

“ Well, you have a good memory ! Forgotten your 
red-haired siren already !” 

“ Oh,” Sir Philip’s face cleared, “you mean Miss Mar- 
lowe’s little cousin !” 

“ That lovely little creature who doctored me so well 
gone aw — ” 

Lady Sinclair broke in suddenly : 

“What! You, too !” 

Captain Montgomery looked at her in astonishment 

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘you, too !’” he 
answered, quickly, a little nettled, for he considered 
himself a very good judge of most things, female 
beauty, perhaps, most of all. “Surely, there can be 
nothing surprising in stating a fact. If Philip’s red- 
haired siren is the same as my little nurse, she is abso- 
lutely one of the most beautiful and picturesque 
creatures I have ever seen or wish to see.” 

Lady Sinclair looked at the two men with a most 
comical expression. 

“ Well, Constance, evidently there is no place for us 
in the world.” 

Constance laughed softly. 

“ Oh, I am quite sure Captain Montgomery could not 
have meant anything so unflattering as that, Lena.” 


64 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ Beauty is not confined to one color or form,” Mau- 
rice answered, hurriedly, “ and I for one can admire it 
in its myriad shapes.” 

“ I wash my hands of you both !” Lady Sinclair cried. 
“ You are both men of very extraordinary and unnatu- 
ral taste.” 

Constance was answering Sir Philip : 

“Yes, she has gone to school. A series of circum- 
stances arose which made my mother decide on sending 
her at once. She did not want to go ; it was a wrench 
to her, of course, poor child! But I dare say she will 
be happy very soon.” 

“ She has gone abroad ?” Sir Philip asked, feeling a 
very slight, vague sensation of disappointment stir- 
ring in his heart — a sensation he was barely conscious 
of. Constance looked at him with her clear eyes and 
answered him with a lie. 

“Yes, she has gone to Paris !” 

Captain Montgomery caught the words. 

“ To Paris, to be finished and to be spoiled. She will 
never be the same again. Lady Sinclair, you will be 
avenged. I shall meet my maiden, with the red-hot 
hair, walking sedately in the park, very trim and very 
fashionable, all the grace gone out of her lissome body, 
and her long locks pinned neatly out of sight, and — I 
shall not even look at her a second time — I shall prob- 
ably call her plain !” 

“ Poor girl ! What a hard fate !” was Lady Sinclair s 
answer, given with unconscious sarcasm ; and then the 
subject of conversation was changed, and later in the 
day Maurice was driven to the station and conveyed 
back to town. 

“ You will be coming up soon,” he said to Sir Philip, 
as they parted. “ Oh, you must ! You can’t vegetate 
here forever, you know.” 


JUST AS SHE WAS CROSSING THE ROAD A HANSOM CAB DROVE BY. See Page 70. 



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f. * K . . ' * v 

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LITTLE KIT. 


65 


“ I am perfectly happy,” Sir Philip said, with a smile, 
“ incomprehensible as it seems to you ; but I must run 
up for a day or two next week. Perhaps you will have 
a free night and come and eat a bit of dinner with me.” 

“ I ’ll try,” Captain Montgomery said. And then, as 
the train rolled away, he sat back and sighed again 
with relief at the thought of being restored to London 
and all its joys. 

“ Shall have to dine with the old boy, I suppose,” he 
said to himself. “ Good old sort, Philip ; won’t do to 
let him cut up rough and let him think he is being 
neglected ; but it 's a nuisance all the same. Got noth- 
ing in common with a chap ; and a bit of a prig, too. 
However, one can’t expect too much from a man of his 
age.” 

Sir Philip walked back to the Priory, and was deeply 
occupied with his thoughts as he went. Despite his 
observations to Maurice that he was perfectly happy, 
he felt as though a slight spirit of unrest had come 
upon him during the last few days. He was a trifle 
weary of Lady Sinclair’s incessant chatter and of Lord 
Sinclair’s dreamy, hazy astronomical observations. He 
could not have quite analyzed his feelings. Maybe it had 
been the presence of Maurice that had worked the 
slight difference. 

Against himself, his sincere affection and admiration 
for the “ boy,” there would come occasionally the 
thought that some day he would experience not only 
disappointment but pain and trouble through this 
young man. He had no cause for such a thought, as 
has already been stated. Maurice Montgomery, so far, 
had done nothing but win the deepest approval from 
his mother’t friend ; still, despite all this, and the fact 
that Philip was on such terms of intimacy with Mrs. 
Montgomery and her family, he had to confess he did 


66 


LITTLE KIT. 


not really know Maurice, and these last three days at 
the Priory had given him an insight into the young 
man’s character such as he had never had before, and 
such as did not bring pleasure to a nature like his own, 
so honest, honorable and pure. 

That Maurice should regard him as an “ old fogy,” 
only provoked a smile. Sir Philip was the least vain 
man in the world ; but his record of success with the 
other sex would have considerably astonished and im- 
pressed Captain Montgomery could he have known of 
it in its entirety. 

Sir Philip never appeared to care for the society of 
women, and was generally regarded as a man who 
would never relinquish one of his bachelor comforts 
for the uncertain bliss of matrimony. 

Sir Philip was not thinking of himself or of what 
opinion Maurice might hold of him, as he walked along 
the country road ; he was thinking, in a dreamy sort 
of way, that he would do well to start once more on 
his travels. He had been in England quite a long time 
(for him) of late, nearly a year, and he had many a 
spot to visit in far-off lands. 

“ There is nothing to keep me,” he thought, a little 
sadly. His close ties had been sundered long ago ; he 
had neither sister nor brother ; his title would go to 
some distant cousin in default of no direct heir. He 
gave a little sigh. His life was, after all, a lonely one, 
and, to a heart so big and full of the milk of human 
kindness as that which he possessed, there were bound 
to be moments of regret and longing over the joys 
denied him. By this time he might have had tall boys 
springing up around him, girls with tender, clinging 
arms and loving lips to soften the burden of life and 
give him happiness. 

Ah, well ! It was too late to think of that now. It 


LITTLE KIT. 


67 


might have been in the long ago, if a woman’s treach- 
ery and falseness had not turned the light of the sun 
to darkness and made all that was beautiful seem 
miserable, distorted and untrue. 

His mind went back to the past as he walked on. 
Suddenly he recognized the road outside The Limes, 
and the memory of Kit’s face came to him. He was a 
little amused at himself for the effect this child had 
produced on him. He was keenly alive to all beauty, 
but he was not a retentive man in this particular 
respect ; he admired the beauty and then forgot it, 
as a rule ; but somehow Kit’s face, her eyes, those ex- 
traordinary eyes, were not to be forgotten. 

“ I should like to have seen her again ; there was 
soul written in every curve and line. Poor child ! I 
have a sort of presentiment about her. She will not 
find the world a gentle or a pretty place ; I should like 
to help her. But these are the impossibilities of life ; 
they give one a pleasant moment even in the thinking 
of them so vainly, but there they end.” 

So dismissing the future with that merciful blind- 
ness and ignorance that is part of our nature, Sir 
Phillip passed The Limes, and walked on more briskly 
till he reached the Priory lawn, where Constance sat 

waiting patiently for his return. 

****** 

“ And her ladyship desires me to say she does not 
approve of the way you do your hair. You must please 
brush it straight back, and wear no curls or fringe. And 
you must always be dressed by two o’clock in your 
black dress. Her ladyship is much surprised you didn’t 
bring a black gown with you ; she always expects that 
all her maids should wear black ; it is usually done in 
good houses.” Here Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper in 
Sir George and Lady Grace Leith’s establishment. 


68 


LITTLE KIT. 


paused and ran her sharp eye over the girl standing 
before her. She was not at all impressed with her. 
She thought Miss Marlowe might have sent a more 
suitable young person than this slender, pale-faced 
Kate Lowe. “ I am afraid you don’t know much about 
your work. I forget how long you were in your last 
situation.” 

Kit almost smiled. 

“ I have never been in a situation before,” she an- 
swered, quietly. 

The housekeeper frowned. The girl’s voice, her 
manner, her general appearance were decidedly against 
her in this working-woman’s opinion. 

“ Too much of a lady!” she said to herself. “ Shouldn’t 
be surprised if she was born one. Well, that is nothing 
to me. She ’s come here as maid, and she must do her 
proper work, or else go. I can’t have no fine ladies" 
about the place.” Thereupon she spoke more sharply 
than before, detailing this particular and that one, and 
giving so many directions that Kit’s head fairly ached. 

“ And now you know what you have to do to-day ; 
and this evening you are to go to Miss Sibyl’s room 
and wait up for her till she comes home, and then you 
are to unlace her bodice and help her undress ; and 
please remember everything I have told you. And, 
Lowe,” as Kit was moving away, “ I think you had 
better put some pomatum on your hair ; her ladyship 
will not like that staring color, I am sure.” 

Kit went away slowly up the stairs to the small room 
allotted to her for her sewing. There was a smile on 
her lips, but it was a very sad one, and she had an ache 
in her heart and in her limbs that made her very 
weary. 

She had been a week in her new life — it had been a 
long, miserable week. She had not known what it 


LITTLE KIT. 


69 


would cost her to leave the place she had called home 
till she was absolutely away. 

She had the one consolation and satisfaction of feel- 
ing she was no longer an object of charity, and of her 
aunt’s bitter, vulgar scorn. But alas ! poor Kit ! She 
had to realize only too truly that independence does 
not always mean happiness ; and she felt to-night, as 
she toiled up the stairs, that if life were to be always 
set in this key, she would meet death gladly and 
without regret. 

She was not without courage, but there was so much 
to learn and to bear. The big house frightened her a 
little, and the servants, all of whom stared at her as 
though she were a wild beast. 

She had only had one interview with the mistress of 
the house, in which she could only distinguish a cold 
voice, a cold face and a haughty presence. 

There was only one daughter unmarried now, and 
she had been away until this day. To-night Kit was to 
take up her proper duty as maid to Sibyl Leith, and 
the child began to tremble with nervousness and dread 
as she thought of this. 

She was afraid of the girl upon whom she was to 
wait — she was afraid of everybody. She sat sewing 
till late in the afternoon ; then, when the bell rang in 
the servants’ hall for tea, she rose to her feet. 

She had half an hour in which to have her tea ; she 
could neither eat nor drink. She did not know whether 
she was disobeying orders, but she determined all at 
once she must go out into the square in front of the 
large house. She was almost suffocated with the close 
atmosphere ; the sun was beating in through the win- 
dows of her room ; she was almost faint and ill from 
the close confinement of the past week, she who was wont 
to live in the air all day long. 


70 


LITTLE KIT. 


She put on the bonnet Mrs. Wilson had bought her, 
and the long, straight cloak, and slipped quietly down 
the stairs. 

She avoided the room where the servants were dis- 
cussing their tea and scandal, and made her way up 
the area steps and out into the broad street. 

She walked swiftly, and not quite assuredly, across 
the road to the square, and then she could have cried 
with disappointment — the gate was locked ; she could 
not enter. 

She turned away, and then she caught sight of the 
park stretching beyond the end of a side street ; she 
would go there. 

She walked on, seeing nothing, noting nothing; con- 
scious only of a longing to be under the trees and to 
fill her lungs with air. She was not frightened by the 
traffic, for there was almost none in this street. All 
she saw before her was the waving branches of the 
trees. 

She passed a number of people — a smart lady or two 
and some children and several men. Just as she was 
crossing the road to enter the park, a hansom cab 
drove by, and a young man looked at her in that un- 
conscious way one stares at people in a big city. His 
face preserved its unconsciousness for a moment; then 
Maurice Montgomery put up his stick, stopped his cab, 
and, walking as quickly as his lameness would allow, 
he followed that humble black-robbed figure into the 
park. 


LITTLE KIT. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 

Kit turned with a start when Maurice spoke to her. 
She looked at him in a dazed sort of way for a moment, 
and then remembrance came to her, and with this re- 
membrance came other memories, and as the difficulty 
of the position broke in on her, she felt her pale cheeks 
grow crimson for an instant. Maurice had taken off 
his hat and was holding out his hand. 

“ You don’t remember me, I am afraid. I hope you 
will forgive me for stopping you, but I felt I must come 
and speak to you, and try to thank you for all you did 
forme the other day, down at Thornton.” 

Kit just put her fingers into his hand. 

“ I — I hope — you are better,” she said, her voice faint 
and uncertain. Her heart was beating fast. Oh, why 
had she come out, and why should this have happened ? 
She felt almost like crying, she was so tired and weak. 
Her eyes had the look of a hunted animal in them, but 
they were wondrously beautiful, and she was strangely 
picturesque and attractive. Not even the common 
black bonnet and ugly, shapeless black cloak could 
hide this fact from Maurice Montgomery’s critical gaze. 
In fact, for once in his life he forgot to be critical, 
and looked at the picture without regard for the setting. 

“Oh, I am much better — though not very strong on 
this ankle just for a little while. Are you going to sit 
down in the park? May I find you a chair? There 
are one or two over there under the trees — it looks 
pleasant and shady.” — 


LITTLE KIT. 


n 


But Kit drew back. 

“ I — I have no time to sit down, thank you. I must go.” 

She began to move away, but Maurice did not intend 
to lose sight of her so quickly. His curiosity was 
roused, and something else, too. He was immensely 
attracted by this girl, so uncommon in her beauty and 
with some mystery about her. Moreover, as he had 
broken an appointment on purpose to speak to her, it 
was hardly likely he should not try and achieve that 
purpose. 

“ You are staying in London ?” he asked, quickly. 

Kit nodded her head. She was greatly distressed — 
her loyalty to Constance made her unhappy now ; she 
felt, and felt truly, her cousin would be greatly an- 
noyed at this episode. 

“ I heard you were in Paris,” Captain Montgomery 
said, turning and walking slowly beside her, for she 
would move on. “You see, I was not absolutely un- 
grateful. I did not forget my nurse, who came to my 
rescue so kindly and so well.” 

“ I did nothing,” Kit said, and then she rallied her 
courage. “ I am glad you are better. You — you 
ought not to walk too much, I am sure. I think it will 
do you harm. I — I hope you will forgive me. I — must 
go now — good-by !” 

She walked away rapidly, and Maurice frowned. He 
could not follow her quickly on account of his foot, but 
he followed as quickly as he could, nevertheless, and, 
hailing a hansom, he got in, directing the man to go 
slowly down the street in front of them, along which 
Kit’s slight figure was hurrying swiftly. 

It did not enter her head to imagine he would follow 
her. To her honest mind such a course of action 
would have been distinctly dishonorable ; she was, in- 
deed, gradually allowing a certain relief to steal over 


LITTLE KIT. 


73 


her. The danger was over for the moment, but in 
future she must be very careful. She must go out 
only when it was dark, and she would wear a veil. 
She had never thought of the possibility of being 
recognized in so vast a place as London — London, a 
world of streets and houses, and people that seemed 
to be innumerable and endless. Her walk, brief as it 
was, had done her a little good ; she felt refreshed for 
the mouthful of air ; but she was exceedingly glad 
when she had reached the area gate and had slowly 
but surely descended the stone steps. 

Maurice Montgomery watched her descent, with knit 
brows, and muttered an inflammatory exclamation 
under his breath. He was more puzzled, more curious 
and more interested than he had ever been in his life. 
He stopped his cab and waited a few minutes. Per- 
haps she had only gone into the house on some errand, 
and would come out again. He waited about fifteen 
minutes on the whole, and then directed the hansom 
driver to take him to one of his numerous clubs. He 
had lost an important engagement through this sudden 
meeting with Kit, but he scarcely even remembered 
that ; he was occupied in wondering all sorts of things 
about her, and in trying to clear the mystery. 

“ One thing is very certain,” he said to himself, as he 
drove along, “ and that is that Lady Sinclair’s * angel ’ 
is capable of telling a good lie — she can do it cleverly, 
too, for I, for one, entirely believed in the story of the 
school in Paris. What can it be ? Has the girl done 
anything wrong ? Is she in disgrace ? She looked 
horribly frightened when I saw her. Her eyes are 
lovely — never saw anything like them ! It ’s a strange 
face ; she was not nearly so pretty to-day, but she 
looked white and ill, and she is evidently in trouble. I 
feel an interest in her.” 


74 


LITTLE KIT. 


Captain Montgomery mused on in his most autocratic 
manner, as though the mere fact of his interest en- 
dowed Kit with some great attraction. 

“ Confess I don’t understand it. Why is she here, 
and why did she go down the kitchen steps of the 
Leiths’ house, and why did that cold-faced paragon of 
virtue tell such a stunning falsehood about her? I 
shall have to find out more about this !” 

And then Captain Montgomery reached his club, 
and went in, to find a goodly budget of letters, all more 
or less in a fashionable, feminine handwriting, awaiting 
his perusal. He soon got through them, and, seating 
himself at a table, began the task of answering them. 
They were nearly all invitations, and to most of them 
this successful and handsome young man was com- 
pelled to send a negative answer. There was one, how- 
ever, which did not share this fate. Maurice read it 
through twice, and wrote the following reply : 

“Dear Lady Grace: Thank you so much for your kind 
invitation. I shall be delighted to dine with you on Thursday 
evening. I look forward with much pleasure to seeing you 
again. Thanks for your inquiries; my unfortunate ankle is 
better, though I am still a cripple. With kindest remembrances 
to yourself and Miss Sibyl, yours very sincerely, 

“Maurice Montgomery.” 

He folded and addressed the note to Lady Grace 
Leith, 20, Mayfair Square, W., anti tossed it on the 
heap of other letters. 

“ Beastly dinner ; everything cold ; but it is politic, 
and Sibyl is charming and then Maurice suddenly 
remembered Kit ; “and, by Jove ! I might be able to 
find out something about that girl. I can get all I 
want to know throught Sibyl.” 

After that the remembrance of “ that girl ” faded out 


LITTLE KIT. 


W 

of Captain Montgomery's mind ; he had so much to do 
— to dress and dine and go to the opera and show up at 
two or three balls, where his lameness would be de- 
plored in the most flattering manner, and he himself 
be the recipient of the most tender sympathy. 

Twice, however, in the evening, Kit’s existence was 
recalled to him. First by the slight resemblance be- 
tween her and one of the singers at the opera, and 
secondly by a remark from a young man, one of his 
town associates, who boldly asked him who the deuce 
the very pretty red-haired girl was he had been seen 
walking with in the park that afternoon. A nursing 
sister, or something of that sort, wasn’t she ? 

Maurice made some laughing remark ; but Kit went 
up in his estimation at once ; he was the sort of man 
who prized whafthe world prized. 

He dismissed the subject, but did not negative the 
notion of the nursing sister. Until he knew more 
about Kit, and what her position was in Lady Grace 
Leith’s house, he preferred to imagine her in some 
light different from that in which he knew he should 
undoubtedly find her. 

He thought of her a little more as he drove home 
very late to his rooms, and a thrill of passion, not sen- 
timent, shot through his heart as he conjured up the 
young face with its pale skin, its red lips and its mar- 
velous eyes. 

“ If she is friendless and needs help, why should I 
not be her friend ?” he said ; and he imagined he was 
thinking a most noble and pure-minded thought. 

Maurice was egoist to such an extent that he even 
blinded himself to what he really meant, said or did. 

He was not absolutely a bad nature ; he was only in- 
tensely selfish, narrow-minded, prejudiced and pugna- 
ciously English. He had several good points, and 


76 


LITTLE KIT. 


would have had more had not his selfishness spread 
itself like a veil over all his character, and clouded the 
whole. 

Had he been true to himself and true to his man- 
hood, he would never even have let such a thought 
come into his mind. He would have known the truth 
and the fallacy and the danger of such a proposition. 

Friendship between a man and a woman is always 
more or less an anomaly ; in this case, taking every- 
thing into consideration, it was an impossibility. 

But Maurice Montgomery had yet to learn the mean- 
ing of the word “ impossible ” where his desires and 
inclinations were concerned. He had never thwarted 
or denied them yet, and he certainly had no intention 
of beginning to do so now. 


LITTLE KIT, 


77 


CHAPTER X. 

“ I want to know all about you. I am sure you are 
very unhappy, Kate. Your name is Kate, isn’t it? 
And you don’t look strong. Don’t think me inquisitive, 
but 1 should like to help you if I could.” 

The speaker was a bright-looking girl ; she could 
not exactly be called pretty, but she was undeniably 
charming, with a sparkle in her gray eyes and a 
perpetual smile hovering round the corners of her 
mouth. 

One could easily understand the popularity which 
Sibyl Leith possessed the instant one looked at her. 
She had that which is sometimes almost as great a 
power as beauty — a nameless fascination, a sympathy 
that none could resist. 

She might not attract immediately, amid a crowd of 
more lovely faces ; but she held her kingdom once it 
was hers, and her power increased instead of dimin- 
ished. 

It was a miracle how she came to be the child of 
such parents. Sir George Leith, pompous, selfish, irri- 
table ; Lady Grace, cold, equally selfish, worldly, hard 
and unsympathetic. 

Out of four daughters, Sibyl alone possessed a na- 
ture so utterly unlike that belonging to her parents. 
Her three sisters, all most satisfactorily married, had 
resembled their mother minutely. Her one brother 
was the facsimile of her father. Why and wherefore 
Sibyl should have been so different is one of those 


LITTlE fClt. 


w 

mysterious questions to which one will never find an 
answer^ 

The only thing- that was certain was that Sibyl was 
different* and there discussion ended. 

She was fitting in her pretty bedroom now, clad 
in a blue dressing gown, with her hair loose on her 
shoulders, undergoing the manipulation of brushing 
from the girl who stood just behind. 

Sibyl Leith was one of those generous beings of the 
feminine sex who can admire another of that same sex 
without the faintest scintillation of jealousy. 

She not only admired Kit, she had straightway fallen 
in love with her. She thought she had never seen any 
one so sweet, so uncommon, so beautiful before. 

She sat staring in the glass, apparently lost in con- 
templation of her own image, in reality gazing at the 
reflection of Kit's pale, subdued face, with its sorrowful 
expression and its marvelous coloring. 

It had been almost too great a relief to Kit, this 
meeting with the girl on whom it was her duty to at- 
tend, and finding her so unlike all the rest of the world 
with whom she had come in contact since her new life 
had begun. 

As Sibyl had fallen in love with her, so Kit had fallen 
a victim to the other’s charming and womanly nature. 
It was a case of mutual affinity. 

Sibyl was perplexed and worried, too, about her new 
maid. 

“ She is absolutely a lady, refined as she is beautiful. 
She is so young, and yet she is so unhappy. It does 
not seem right that one person should be so unhappy, 
while another has so much.” 

And then Sibyl Leith would glance, with a blush, to 
her writing-table, studded with some half-dozen photo- 
graphs of her chosen and best-liked friends. 


LITTLE KIT. 


79 


Her eyes always went to one picture in a silver 
frame — a handsome, stalwart young man in a smart 
uniform — with a signature in the corner, just two 
letters, “ M. M.,” and a date. 

The mere fact of looking at this portrait gave Sibyl 
pleasure and revived the knowledge of her happiness, 
recalling, as it did, many a pretty little episode which 
she treasured in her heart of heart. 

Kit had waited on her several days before Sibyl de- 
termined to speak out what was on her mind. 

She was dressing for dinner now. Her mother was 
giving a small party, only one or two intimate friends ; 
but Sibyl was very particular about having her hair 
prettily done, and had told Kit to lay out one of her 
most becoming frocks. 

Another girl might have been, not unnaturally, irri- 
tated when she found that her new maid was unequal 
to the task of doing her hair, but Sibyl was the most 
considerate person in the world. 

“ I know you have no experience," she said to Kit ; 
and then she sent and asked her mother’s maid to come 
to the rescue, and told Kit that she would see that she 
had some lessons immediately, adding, in her pretty 
way : “ And I am sure you will be splendid at it, for 
you have such artistic hands, and you are in earnest." 

Kit’s heart swelled with pleasure, pain and gratitude. 
She could not fail to be touched by Miss Leith’s kind- 
ness. Poor child ! She had not had too much of it in 
her life, and it was like some healing balm upon her 
troubled and sorrowful heart. 

There was something about Sibyl that recalled Chris. 
She longed so often to write to Chris, to let him know 
where she was and what she was doing, but she had no 
intention of breaking her word to Constance. She 
would be loyal to the one who had helped her, even 


80 


LITTLE KIT. 


though that help had been in so poor a way, and she 
had been absolutely forgotten and neglected by her 
cousin since her departure. 

To let Chris know anything about her would be to 
make Constance very angry and give her annoyance, 
and this was something Kit would not do. 

But, all the same, her heart went forth very often 
to her old playmate, the stanch, loving friend of her 
childhood. At moments she felt as though she would 
have given all she possessed — life and youth itself — to 
cling once to his strong, loving hands, and be conscious 
of the reality of his unalterable affection. 

The likeness .she traced in Sibyl to Chris would have 
made her pleasant under any circumstances in Kit’s 
eyes ; but allied as it was to such tender womanliness 
and sympathy, it is little wonder that Kit felt a great 
portion of love and gratitude go out to her young mis- 
tress. 

Sibyl was dressed in her pretty white frock, and was 
drawing on her gloves, when she suddenly turned and 
spoke to Kit. 

Dinner was not till a quarter past eight, and the hour 
had not chimed yet. Sibyl had a shy wish not to go 
down too soon. 

“ He can have a little chat with mamma first,” she 
thought to herself, hurriedly. 

Her toilet had been completed early, and Kit was 
busying herself putting away things. She looked 
round, and her face colored suddenly as Sibyl spoke to 
her. 

“ I shall call you Kate,” Miss Leith went on, “ it is so 
much prettier than Lowe. I don’t like calling you by 
your surname. You look very pale, Kate ; I think you 
ought to go out. I am sure a little air would do you 
good. Why not ask Sparks to go for a walk with you ?” 


LITTLE KIT. 


81 


Sparks was Lady Grace’s maid, a very important 
person. She frightened Kit exceedingly. 

She shrank back now from the idea. 

“ Oh, no — I mean, thank you very much, Miss Sibyl ; 
but I — I don’t think I can go out. I have some sewing 
to do.” 

“ What sewing ? But you can’t work all day and all 
night, too. No one can ; it is preposterous. You will 
be ill ; and you are ill, I believe. Please don’t work 
any more to-night, Kate.” 

Kit’s eyes filled with sudden tears. 

“ You are very good,” she said, brokenly. 

She turned round to hang some dresses in the ward- 
robe, but Sibyl had caught sight of her face, and it 
sent quite a pang through the happy girl’s heart. 

“ Oh, dear, I wish I could do something for her,” she 
thought. Aloud she said, gently: “You will forgive 
me asking you any impertinent questions, Kate, won’t 
you ? I am only anxious about you ; I can’t bear to 
see any one unhappy. But I won’t bother you now. 
Perhaps, some day, when you know me a little better, 
you will tell me something about yourself and your life 
before you came here. Till that time I should like you 
to know I am your friend, and if there is anything you 
want, anything I can do for } r ou, I would like you to 
come to me. Will you make that bargain ?” 

vShe stretched out her ungloved hand as she spoke, 
and Kit took it — took it after a moment’s hesitation, 
then bent her lips and kissed the hand passion- 
ately. 

“You are good. Oh, you are good,” she said, in 
the same broken fashion. “ I shall never be able to 
thank you — never ! But I will be your friend all my 
life !” 

And when she said these words, how little Kit Mar- 


82 


LITTLE KIT. 


lowe knew what they would cost her — what they would 
really mean. 

******* 

Maurice Montgomery had no necessity to question 
Sibyl Leith in any sort of way about Kit. As though 
fate had ordained it, she herself gave him all the in- 
formation he desired, before the long and solemn din- 
ner had progressed more than half way. 

He had noticed, immediately she entered the draw- 
ing-room, that there were tear-drops on her eyelashes, 
and her face had a subdued, emotional expression which 
attracted him. He was, indeed, very much attracted 
by Sibyl Leith altogether. Of course he did not con- 
sider her pretty. In fact, he found her regrettably 
ordinary and rather plain than otherwise, when he sat 
down quietly to scan her personality. But Maurice 
was, as has been pointed out before, an excessively 
vain man, and it was therefore only in the ordinary 
course of things that he should be touched and grati- 
fied by the knowledge of this girl’s love for him. And 
Sibyl did love him. In her simple, earnest, true- 
hearted fashion she had set him up on a pedestal, and 
she was worshiping him with all the warmth and sin- 
cerity of her nature. She was not conscious of how 
clearly she betrayed this knowledge to him. She only 
knew that, happy as she was under ordinary circum- 
stances, she was never so happy as when she was with 
Maurice. She had no discriminating powers, nor did 
she desire them. To her he was faultless, a man above 
men, something that roused the higher and better feel- 
ings in all hearts — a brave, strong, straightforward 
soldier of honor, as loyal in heart as in his career. 

Maurice had begun to pay her attention from the 
first day they had met, very delicate attention, calcu- 
lated to interest her and not alarm her mother. For 


LITTLE KIT. 


&3 

Sibyl Leith was an heiress in a small Way. She not 
only would carry to her husband the liberal allowance 
set on one side for her by her rich father, but she had 
lately come into possession of a nice little income and 
property, bequeathed to her by her aunt and godmother. 

Consequently Lady Grace was keenly on the alert 
against all possible fortune-hunters and other undesir- 
able persons, and amply made up in her assiduous 
watch over her daughter for the indifference and care- 
lessness with which that same daughter regarded her- 
self and her wealth. 

As a matter of fact, Sibyl never thought of her 
money at all. Perhaps Maurice Montgomery fulfilled 
this mission for her, for he thought a great deal about 
her money, and not always in the most unselfish way. 

As they sat together at dinner, after Sibyl had in- 
quired tenderly and been reassured about the poor 
ankle, Maurice drew out, in his most skillful and gentle 
way, the cause of the emotion that had been on her 
face when they first met. Sibyl said very little to be- 
gin with, but it was impossible for her to resist the 
fascination of Maurice’s voice and manner, and, then, 
she trusted him and believed him to be absolutely and 
exactly of the same character as herself. 

She told him about Kit — how she was certain the 
girl was gently born, but how she had said nothing as 
yet, and Sibyl would not question. Only she was 
really troubled, for the girl seemed ill, and she was sure 
the work and the close confinement in the house were 
bad for her ; and then Sibyl, having said so much, and 
finding, as she knew she should, that Maurice was so 
sympathetic, told how she and Kit had made friends, 
and how she was certain that she had been badly 
treated, but that it was evident she would say nothing, 
and meant to bear her burden silently. 


84 


LITTLE KIT. 


Maurice sat musing as Sibyl ceased. 

“ It sounds very interesting and almost romantic ; 
and how like you " — with a tender inflection on the 
word — “ to be so sweet and good. No doubt all you say 
is true, and I expect she is very unhappy." 

“ She looks wretched and so ill, and the funny thing 
is I find she never goes out. She is frightened to walk 
alone, I suppose, and she shrinks from the other serv- 
ants. I hit on a splendid plan just now. I shall give 
her my key of the square, and she can go there when- 
ever she likes. In the evening, for instance, when we 
are all out, she could sit there and be nice and quiet. 
Don’t you think I am clever ?" 

“ Very clever," he said, smiling down into her eyes, 
“ and something more besides," he whispered. 

And Sibyl turned away her head and blushed a 
pretty rose color, even down to her soft white throat. 

It was a very happy evening. Maurice sat beside 
her as she went to the piano and sang all her quaint 
little songs. He did not say much, but he had very 
eloquent eyes, and Sibyl seemed to find all the words 
she needed in them. 

They parted with a close hand-clasp. Sibyl ran up- 
stairs to her room with a heart that thrilled and 
throbbed with a joy that was beyond description, and 
Maurice Montgomery got into a cab and was driven 
away to a bachelor supper party. He looked keenly at 
the square gardens as he drove past them, and seemed 
to be making some sort of calculation ; then he threw 
himself back in his corner, and a smile curled the cor- 
ners of his handsome mouth — the smile of a man well 
satisfied with himself and with the world in general. 
****** 

Sibyl Leith’s unexpected goodness brought a gleam 
of sunshine into our poor little heroine’s life. 


LITTLE KIT. 


85 


The sympathy was so beautiful to her, she had no 
words to express all it meant to her. She gave out of 
her bountiful young heart the truest love, the deepest 
gratitude to the girl who had given her so much. 

She longed to be able to show some definite proof of 
her intense gratitude, yet she was silent in this. She 
bore herself very quietly ; she would not encroach on 
Sibyl’s graciousness. 

She never forgot for a moment the position she held 
in the house, and taught herself daily the bitter and 
difficult task of repression in her pride and in her 
feelings. 

Sibyl’s interest in her new maid did not fail to pro- 
voke extreme jealousy among the other servants, with 
whom Kit could not even attempt to associate. 

Her quiet, dignified bearing — and it was wonderful 
how the natural flow of spirits had been brought into 
subjection by her will — would have made her unpopu- 
lar under any circumstances ; but when it became 
known that Miss Sibyl had taken such a fancy to Kate 
Lowe, then the dissatisfaction became dislike — very 
definite dislike, too. 

Kit only drew back more and more into her shell. If 
it had not been for Sibyl, there were moments when 
she told herself she could not bear the life she had to 
lead ; but the pleasure she derived from attending on 
her new friend more than compensated for all her dis- 
comfort. 

She loved the little chats in the pretty bedroom 
while she brushed Sibyl’s soft, brown hair ; and she 
delighted in helping the girl to dress in the evening to 
go to a dinner, the opera, or a ball. 

Sibyl had given Kit the key of the gardens in the 
square, and already the latter had made acquaintance 
with these same gardens. 


86 


Lll’TLE E1T. 


She usually chose the hour when the servants w6re 
at supper, and her going and coming passed un- 
noticed. 

Kit grew almost fond of these dingy, shabby trees 
and brown grass plot. She would sit there in the sum- 
mer twilight, and her thoughts would go chiefly to 
Chris — what he was doing and what he thought of her, 
and if he missed her much. 

Constance never wrote her a word. She never knew 
how her aunt had received the news of her departure ; 
she had no hint as to what story was given out to ac- 
count for that departure. She felt a little sad and 
weary at Constance’s utter neglect of her ; she might 
at least have sent one word ; but Kit never attempted 
to break the silence. 

One evening she had dressed Sibyl in a frock of deli- 
cate pink, and had watched the girl flutter down to the 
hall, where Lady Grace stood waiting. 

There was a happy look on Sibyl’s face that somehow 
made Kit feel conscious of an ache and a void in her 
heart. 

She did not envy her friend ; she only felt a heavi- 
ness upon her, as thoughts of her life would crowd into 
her mind. She put the room in order, and then stood 
at the window and sighed. She felt almost too tired 
to put on her bonnet and cloak to go out ; but as the 
soft summer night wind came in and touched her 
cheeks, she rallied herself and went to her room, dress- 
ing herself quickly. 

The square was almost deserted. Later on it would 
be filled with carriages, for one of the big houses was 
decorated with a striped awning that told of some re- 
ception, a big soirde or a ball. 

Kit unlocked the gate and was passing in, when some 
one touched her on the shoulder. 


LITTLE KIT. 


87 


“ It is Miss Marlowe, is it not ?” Captain Montgomery 
said,, as she turned with a start. 

Kit trembled with nervousness and a little fear. Then 
there came a swift thought of Constance. 

“ Do not call me by that name,” she said, hurriedly. 
“ I — I am Kate Lowe. I — do — not — ” 

Maurice hastened to reassure her. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, in his most courteous 
way. “ I am so sorry I made a mistake.” 

To himself he was thinking that now, more than 
ever, there was some mystery, or why should she be 
masquerading in a false name ? He pushed the gate 
open for her to pass through, and followed her quite 
easily, letting the latch click behind him. 

“ These gardens are a wonderful invention,” he said, 
walking beside her timid, hesitating figure. 

He still had to use a stick ; but his lameness did not 
detract from his appearance — it rather gave him addi- 
tional interest. 

“I am afraid,” he began, determining to start matters 
on a frank footing — “ I am afraid, Miss Lowe, you think 
me a very unceremonious person, intruding on you in 
this way ; but, you see, I cannot forget how kind you 
were to me, and I have had such a longing to join you 
in your little evening walks.” He laughed slightly. 
“ Now, I daresay you wonder how I know you do walk 
in the evening ; well, I will make a confession. I have 
been here in this square nearly every night this week, 
and have watched you come into these gardens, and 
have envied you your quiet hour of thought, and 
wished I might be allowed to join you, as I have done 
to-night.” 

Kit felt a strange thrill run through her. 

“ You have watched me ?” she said, wonderingly, 
softly. 


88 


LITTLE KIT. 


He answered “ Yes,” only making the word as ten- 
der as he possibly could. 

Thegirl looked at him out of her beautiful, uncom- 
prehending eyes. Her hair was a little ruffled on her 
brows. The rising moon touched her pale face with its 
cold radiance, drawing a nameless loveliness out of 
those marvelous eyes. Maurice Montgomery felt his 
pulses quicken. 

It was not love that stirred his heart, for such a heart 
as he possessed could not possibly know the meaning 
of the word love in its truest, purest, most exquisite 
sense ; but, nevertheless, he called it love to himself, 
and he let its fascination steal over his practical mind, 
blind his shrewd eyes, and deafen the voice of his 
worldly-wise reason. 

“ Is it so strange that I should do this ?” he asked 
her, as they w # alked on under the trees. 

The girl quivered at his voice, and wondered in a 
shy, vague way why her heart should throb and beat 
so fast, and why her eyes felt so heavy that she could 
not lift them to the handsome face bending so tenderly 
above her. 

“ I — I think it is,” she said, speaking nervously. “ I 
— you don’t know me, and — and — ” 

“ And what ?” he asked, gently. “ Suppose I do not 
know you yet, is that any reason why I should not 
grow to know you ? You helped me once when I 
needed help ; now — forgive me, will you not, if I hurt 
you ? But I feel, somehow, you may need help — only 
the help of sympathy, of comprehension, the help of a 
friend, and — and I should love to give this to you if I 
might !” 

Kit’s glorious eyes filled with tears suddenly. 

“ How good you are!” she said brokenly. “How 
good !” 


LITTLE KIT. 


89 


Maurice stretched out his hand. 

“ Little girl,” he said, softly, “ shall we be friends ? 
You do not know much of me, but I will try to make 
you like me, and — and I will try to give you happiness 
if I can. I know you have some trouble — that there is 
sadness in your young heart ; but I do not ask you to 
tell me of it yet — some day when we are quite old 
friends. That is all I have to say. That is why I have 
watched and waited for an opportunity to speak to 
you. Will you forgive me ? Will you say you are not 
angry ?” 

Kit said nothing, only put her slender hand into his 
with a courage that was born of intense gratitude to 
him, and some other feeling, new, deep, intense — a 
feeling that was laden with a joy she had never felt be- 
fore. And as she stood there in the moonlight, sealing 
the compact of their friendship with that silent, elo- 
quent hand-clasp, Sir Philip Desmond was waiting, with 
an impatient frown on his brow, at his club for Mau- 
rice to keep an appointment with him ; and Sibyl Leith, 
standing in a crowded drawing-room, trying to chat 
and be at her ease, was counting the minutes with pas- 
sionate eagerness for the hour when she would enter 
the ball-room at a very grand house where Maurice 
Montgomery would be awaiting her, to sit beside her 
all the evening, and — who could say ? — perhaps to 
whisper in her ear in some quiet corner the words her 
heart already knew so well and cherished so dearly. 


90 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ Kate, come here !” 

Sibyl Leith is sitting at her writing-table, ostensibly 
engaged in some letters, but, for the last ten minutes, 
she had been giving the whole of her attention to the 
girl’s figure sitting by the window, with a heap of soft 
muslin on her lap, which she was framing into some 
dainty fichus and bows. 

Kit looked round with a start ; she had been lost in 
thought. She rose immediately, just a tiny flush on 
her cheek. 

“ Yes, Miss Sibyl,” she said, standing obediently by 
the table. 

“ Kate,” Sibyl Leith said, meditatively, “ do you know 
you are a very mysterious person? You have been 
sitting in that chair for the last hour, and you have 
been smiling to yourself all the time.” 

“ Have I ?” Kit said hurriedly, the color deepening in 
her cheeks. 

“ You have, most certainly,” Sibyl nodded her head. 
“ Now, I am curious. I want to know what nice thoughts 
you had to make you smile so happily ?” 

Kit was silent an instant. 

“ 1 did not know I was smiling,” she answered, a little 
hurriedly ; “ and — and I don’t remember my thoughts. 
I must have been dreaming — I have days of dreams 
sometimes.” 

“ They must be very sweet and pretty, then,”. Sibyl 
said, smiling as she spoke. “ What a shame to disturb 


LITTLE KIT. 


91 


you ! But, after all, I do want to speak to you, so I 
should have had to wake you up. Kate, how would 
you like to leave me ?” 

Kit put out her hand with a gesture that was as 
honest as it was involuntary. 

“ Oh, why do you say such a thing ?” she said, her 
voice surprised and alarmed. 

Sibyl put out her hand. 

“ Dear Kate,” she said, gently, “ it does sound an un- 
kind thing, but — ” she paused, and Kit stood, saying 
nothing — “ I am thinking of your future, dear,” Sibyl 
said, when she spoke. “ You see, I have grown so fond 
of you, Kate, and I want to take care of you as much 
as I can, and know you are happy and in a good home, 
and — ” Sibyl paused again. “ And perhaps,” she said, 
with a shy blush, “ I — I shall not always be here, you 
see, Kate, and — ” 

Kit did not quite understand. All she knew was 
that the smile had gone from her lips and out of her 
heart. 

This mere idea, this bare suggestion of her leaving 
Sibyl Leith was fraught with a sudden and bitter pain. 
Not only because of the pleasure her young mistress’s 
companionship gave her, but for another reason. Kit’s 
eyes went in dreamy thought to the picture of a garden 
at night — trees waving dark shadows in the moonlight ; 
beyond and around, outside the iron railings, the sound 
and hum of a busy world, but, inside, a paradise of 
peace, of joy, of sympathy illimitable. 

To go away she must leave all this. There must be 
an end to those exquisite moments, an end to the hazy 
day-dreams that followed on them. 

A week had gone since that memorable evening 
when Montgomery had first followed her. What a 
week ! To the girl’s imaginative mind it was a week 


92 


LITTLE KIT. 


filled to the brim with every sort of poetical and ideal 
happiness. Thoughts, views had been brought before 
her of which she, in her youth and ignorance, had 
never dreamed ; life, that had been so sad, so drear, so 
desolate, now stretched before her as some glorious 
picture that dazzled her eyes and made her heart 
thrill. 

She had seen him every night ; they sat and talked. 
He had talked, and she had listened, and then he had 
her shy soul from her lips, and he had made her open 
her heart and speak as she had never spoken before, 
giving utterance to those thoughts that had been wont 
to come into her face and mystify poor Chris, being so 
far above him in every way. 

Kit could not have remembered exactly all that had 
been said between them. She only knew that she 
lived through each day only for the evening to come, 
when she could meet him again. 

He was like some strange knight of old, eager to 
range himself on the side of the weak and troubled ; 
he was so handsome, so gentle-voiced, sd tender ; and 
then he loved her. Had he not said it only last night 
as they had stood hand in hand just before they parted ? 
He had called her a queen ; a queen with star-like 
eyes ; and then he had bent his head and kissed the 
little hands he held, just as some courtier would kiss 
the hand of his sovereign. 

She had sat there alone long after he had gone, and 
she had held the hands he had kissed again and again 
to her lips, while her heart thrilled with the joy that 
dwelt within it. 

She was content, she was happy — happy and content 
in absolute innocence and ignorance. She did not even 
know his name ; she knew nothing of his life ; she 
knew no more than she learned in those brief moments 


LITTLE KIT. 


93 


he spent with her tinder the trees, wooing the very 
soul of her soul from her by his tender voice and soft, 
sweet words. And now — now Sibyl was speaking to 
her of leaving, of going away ! 

Kit was awakened from her dreams as roughly as 
though some hand had thrown cold water upon her. 

She was bewildered for the moment ; she could not 
arrange her thoughts ; she could do nothing but stand 
silent and dismayed. 

Sibyl Leith seemed to find nothing strange in the 
girl’s manner. She, too, had her mind full of thought 
— thought that was confusing when mixed with mun- 
dane matters. She wanted to say a good deal to Kit, 
but she found it a difficult matter to speak out all she 
had to say. 

She tapped her pen on her blotting pad and lapsed 
into her thoughts, until she woke with a start to find 
Kit still standing waiting for her to speak. 

“You must know, Kate,” she said, hurriedly, “ that I 
don’t want to lose you ; but,” she began to shake her- 
self free of those bewildering, confusing thoughts, 
“but, as I said just now, I want to be your true friend, 
and put selfishness all on one side. You have been 
with me very little more than a fortnight, Kate, but it 
has been time enough to learn what you really are. I 
am convinced you are not fit to be a servant to me or 
to any one. You are, in fact, my equal. Your birth is 
as gentle as mine. You have betrayed this fact in a 
thousand ways that have spoken to me far more than 
words !” 

The two girls were clasping hands now. Kit found 
her lips would not speak the words she longed to utter. 

“ This being so, dear friend,” Sibyl went on, hur- 
riedly, “ you can understand how eager I am to help 
you to a life more suited to you altogether — one in 


94 


LITTLE KIT. 


which you can find independence without humiliation. 
If — if things were going on with me as they have gone, 
I should never suggest a change ; but,” Sibyl stopped, 
with a blush, “ things are not going to be just as they 
have been. I will tell you of that directly. All I want 
to say to you now is to tell you I have found the very 
home for you — at least, I am sure you will like it. I 
have thought a great deal about you, Kate, lately, and 
two or three nights ago I spoke to an old and very 
dear friend, the sort of man who I knew would be able 
to kelp me in what I wanted ; and just fancy, Kate, no 
sooner had I said I wanted to find a pleasant home for 
a girl friend of mine than Sir Philip immediately de- 
clared he had been trying to find some one exactly like 
you to live with his cousin, a dear old lady whom I 
know very well, and of whom I am very fond ; and 
then,” Sibyl was full of her story, and had not noticed 
that Kit’s hand had stolen away from that firm hold, 
and was hanging straight by her side — “ and then I told 
Sir Philip I would have a little chat with you, and then 
write him what you said. 

“ It would be a very pleasant life, I think, Kate ; you 
would have very little to do. Lady Milborough really 
wants a companion to sit with her, drive with her, go 
to music with her, and be genial and interesting. She 
would give you fifty pounds a year, and you could go 
at once ; but if you would rather not leave me for a 
little while — well, I daresay we could manage to ar- 
range all that,” Sibyl finished with a smile. 

Kit tried to condense her thoughts, to be and seem 
quite at her ease. Poor child ! The lesson of dissimu- 
lation was something she had never had reason to study. 
She felt all at once as though some great change was 
coming upon her. 

She possessed, as has been said, a nature that was 


LITTLE KIT. 


95 


sensitive to the highest degree, highly strung with a 
nervous organization that was capable of enduring 
much and suffering intensely. 

The influence of the last week had been to cloud all 
these faculties, but now, brought face to face with 
something definite, something that demanded action, 
not thought, her whole nature was roused. She did 
not quite know what to do, what to say for the moment. 
Sibyl misread her hesitation. 

“ I see,” she said, gently, “ I have startled you. You 
want to think quietly over what I have said, and per- 
haps when you know my news, Kate, it may help you 
in your decision.” 

Sibyl laughed very softly ; then, with a glance at 
the photograph that stood before her, she seemed to 
gain courage. 

“ Kate,” she said, and her face grew almost beautiful 
in this moment, “ I want you to be very glad, for — for 
I am very, very happy. I am going to be married, 
Kate, and I love him with all my heart and spul.” 

Kit lost all her own discomfort immediately ; her face 
lighted up at once. Ah ! Could she not understand 
such words ? 

“ Oh, I am glad, so glad !” she said, and her voice was 
eloquent with this fact. “You know 1 am glad,” she 
said, coming a little nearer to Sibyl. 

The other girl took Kit's hand and held it tightly, 
leaning her cheek on it. 

“I — I have not told you anything about it, Kate, be- 
cause I was not quite sure. I thought it, you know, 
but all was unsettled. It was only last night ; and, oh, 
Kate ! Kate ! I don’t know how I came home. I am 
sure mamma must have thought me mad. I danced 
upstairs three at a time. I longed to be alone to think. 
You will know just how I felt, some day, little Kate, 


96 


LITTLE KIT. 


when the same thing- comes to you, and you learn what 
it is to love some one as I love my Maurice.” 

Kit bent down involuntarily and kissed the lips of 
the flushed speaker. Equality had been utterly estab- 
lished between them, now they were friends — friends 
in the truest, closest sense, and something- that spoke 
in both their hearts, though it found no vent in their 
words, linked them together closer to-day than they 
had ever been before. 

“ Shall I tell you all about it, Kate ?” Sibyl rose from 
her chair, and twisting her arms about Kit's waist, 
walked with her to the window. “ It was at the 
duchess’s ball. You know now why I wanted to look 
my very, very best — but I always want that when I 
know I am going to see him. We did not dance. He 
cannot dance just now, he is lame.” Kit gave a little 
start, and Sybil hastened to reassure her. “ Oh, not a 
cripple — he is only lame for the moment. He hurt his 
leg three years ago, when he was so brave and was such 
a hero ouf; in that horrible Soudan, and, of course, it is 
never very strong, so that he has to be very careful. 
The least thing makes it bad — that is why he is lame 
now ; he had a slight accident the other day, I don’t 
quite know what it was ; but, at any rate, he is better 
now ; and when— when he belongs to me I shall be 
very, very strict with him, and see that he takes care 
of himself, as he ought to do. When he belongs to 
me !” Sibyl repeated, laying her head on Kit’s .shoulder 
and lapsing for a moment into happy dream thoughts. 
“ How sweet it sounds ! You must like my Maurice, 
Kate, you must promise to like him ; he is so handsome 
— such an honest, noble face !” 

Kit said nothing ; she was trembling a little, why she 
could not have told. She felt as one feels when some 
danger is imminent, a danger one knows but cannot 


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LITTLE KIT. 


97 


avoid. She was conscious of a cold sensation that was 
something she had never experienced before. She 
clung a little closer to Sibyl ; the contact of this happy, 
sympathetic creature did her good. Still all was con- 
fused, uncertain and strange in her ; she was like one 
in a dream, and yet she lived acutely. Sibyl spoke on 
softly, telling her little love story in a delicate, shy 
way. 

“ And now you see, Kate, dear, why I am so anxious 
to do something for you, for I shall be married so soon ; 
he — he says he cannot wait longer than August, and I 
am glad to do all he wants, and I should be so happy 
and glad if I could know you would be in some nice 
home. You will think over all I have said. Lady 
Milborough is a sweet old woman, and when you see 
Sir Philip, you will adore him ; he is one of the best 
men in the world. Remember, dear, if you would like 
to stay with me until — until I go, why — ” 

Kit found her voice. 

“ Yes, yes, let me stay a little longer ! You know I 
will do all you say — how could I refuse you? You 
have been my first friend, my angel friend, but I want 
to be with you a little longer — if I may ” 

Sibyl was deeply touched. 

“ And so you shall, dear/' she answered, kissing the 
delicate face beside her ; “ so you shall. Not as my 
maid, but as my little companion and my friend. Only, 
Kate," with a shy laugh, “ you must promise not to be 
too much bored with me, for I expect you will hear 
nothing but Maurice, Maurice, Maurice all day long." 

Kit laughed, but her mind was still full of this vague 
premonition of trouble, and for the first time a sort of 
thought touched her that perhaps this wonderful hap- 
piness, which had come so unexpectedly, and which 
she was cherishing so dearly, was something that 


98 


LITTLE KIT. 


should not have been. She scarcely knew in this mo- 
ment what to think, how to sort and frame the ideas 
that were crowding her brain. 

Sibyl talked on. All was so wonderful, so beautiful 
to her, and Kit understood so well and was so full of 
sympathy — she knew no one to whom she could have 
spoken all this to so well as to Kit. 

“ So that is settled. I will write to Lady Milborough 
myself, and to-morrow we will drive and see her. I am 
sure to have a spare hour,” this with her ready blush, 
“ and I shall introduce you as my dear friend whom I 
have known only a short time, yet whom I love already 
as though 1 had known you years— do I not trust you 
with my most precious secrets ? I know you will guard 
them, and some day, perhaps, you will have your 
secrets to tell me — and then — ” Sibyl kissed Kit again, 
and then danced back to her writing-desk. “ How lazy 
I am ! I can do nothing to-day, and I must finish these 
letters.” ' 

She took up her pen while Kit stood rooted to the 
ground. A pang of pain and remorse had suddenly 
seized her — Sibyl’s innocent, laughing words had all at 
once stabbed her. Had she not already a secret which 
she did not share — which she must not share, for he 
had said she must be silent ? He had not wanted any 
one but their two selves to enter their dream-world, 
for a time at least. 

“ Let us live apart and out of the world, we two, little 
one,” he had said ; “ what do we want with others ? 
They will only spoil our happiness ; they will not un- 
derstand our thoughts and dreams.” 

And she had agreed to all he said, for every word he 
uttered had a separate beauty and significance to her. 
She had not questioned or tried to ponder on his mean- 
ing. To her it was only that he spoke poems that har- 


LITTLE KIT. 


99 


monized with the silver moonlight, and the soft 
summer night breeze ; but now the poetry was gone, 
and she knew, looking at facts with her great, true, 
honest heart, that there was a jarring note in the 
melody that had lived in her ears through the past 
week, a dark, small cloud on the brilliancy of her 
horizon. If Sibyl could give her such unlimited confi- 
dence, ought she not in return — she who owed so much 
to this gentle, sweet-natured girl — ought not she to 
give her her confidence, to speak out her story, 
too? 

She stood there troubled, restless ; the peace broken, 
the dream dispelled. 

Sibyl looked up from her writing. 

“ Go and put on your hat, Kate. We will go out to- 
gether, you and I. I must just run to mamma for a 
moment — I have forgotten an address I want. We 
will go and sit in the square. He — he is not coming 
till late this afternoon.” She was moving away, when 
a sudden thought came to her. “ See, here is his pic- 
ture. No, don't look at it until I am gone. It has 
always stood there, but I don’t think you have ever 
noticed it. You understand now, Kate, why I always 
like to dust this table myself. I shall be back — directly. 
Study him well ” — Sybil put her head round the door — 
“ and then tell me if you don’t think him the most 
beautiful man in the world.” 

Kit sent her a smile, and, with a wave of her hand, 
Sibyl Leith disappeared. 

Left to herself, Kit stood and gave way for a mo- 
ment to this confused trouble of thought that burdened 
her. She held the picture Sibyl had given her listlessly 
in her hand. All at once it came to her with a sort of 
weariness that there were worse things to meet with in 
the world than a bitter tongue and dependence. 


100 


LITTLE KIT. 


She had suffered much and often when she had been 
beneath her aunt’s roof. Still there had been some- 
thing in the life which seemed to her now to be gone 
from her forever — a joyousness, a delight in mere ex- 
istence, which had beautified everything. 

The new, sweet happiness of the past week had been 
of a different sort — something potent, dreamy, subtle ; 
and then it was broken already. 

She felt she was untrue to Sibyl, and that was horri- 
ble to her. She felt she had done something wrong, 
though how, why or in what way she could not define. 
She only knew she was troubled and confused, and 
that even the joy that she had been counting on in the 
evening had diminished till it seemed feeble and 
poor. 

She gave a sigh. Events had crowded upon her so 
quickly, and her young life had been wont to run in so 
simple a fashion, never changing, never growing less 
or bigger, that she felt herself overwhelmed by circum- 
stances. 

Of only one thing she felt certain in this moment of 
conflicting emotions and thought, and that was her 
great delight in Sibyl’s happiness. She had responded 
to the friendship and sympathy offered to her as a 
flower smiles under the influence of the sun. As long 
as life ran in her veins she would never cease to re- 
member all that Sibyl had given her, all that she had 
received from the more fortunate girl’s hands. 

She brushed her hair back from her hot brow and 
gave a deep, involuntary sigh. The strange prescience 
of evil and sorrow was heavy upon her. 

It must have been this alone that sustained her as 
she at last bent her head to gaze upon the picture she 
held in her hand ; this alone that gave her strength to 
let her eyes rest on the face of the man who had woven 


LITTLE KIT. 


101 


such a dream of words and thoughts into her life during 
the past week ; the false, handsome coward who had 
won her heart from her, the while he was uttering the 
same false vows to the girl who was to be his wife, the 
girl who was now her best and dearest friend ! 

When Sibyl Leith reentered her room she found her 
lover’s portrait replaced on the table, and Kit gone ; 
and there was no sign — nothing to tell her that the 
little tragedy of a girl’s broken heart and faith had been 
enacted there during her absence. 


102 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Sibyl and Kit did not meet again until the next day. 
Lady Grace’s maid waited on Miss Leith, and announced 
in tones of subdued indignation that Lowe was ill with 
a headache, and had gone to bed. 

Sibyl was full of sympathy. 

“ I thought she looked very pale this morning,” she 
said ; and then, still further increasing the maid’s in- 
dignation, she insisted on going up the stairs to Kit’s 
room, only to find the door locked, and to receive no 
answer to her gentle tap on the panel. 

She waited a few moments ; then, thinking Kit was 
in all probability fast asleep, she stole downstairs 
again, feeling sad for the moment in the midst of her 
happiness. 

The sadness gave way, however, to a blush and smile 
as her lover was announced, and entered the room, fol- 
lowed by Sir Philip Desmond, who, as Maurice Mont- 
gomery’s old friend and soi-disant guardian, came at 
once to do homage to the girl who was to become the 
young man’s wife. 

Philip Desmond was in truth only too delighted with 
such an errand. He had known Sibyl well for some 
time, and liked her extremely. 

His congratulations rang with sincerity. The influ- 
ence of a pure, sweet woman, such as Sibyl, was the 4 
one thing in all the world to work absolute good in 
Maurice ; for, deeply as he liked him, there were many 
things in the young man which jarred on and pained 
the elder considerably. 


LITTLE KIT. 


103 

Sir George and Lady Grace had, strange to % relate, 
given a hearty consent to the engagement and speedy 
marriage. Strange in the sense that Captain Mont- 
gomery was a poor man, and the god of the Leiths was 
money ; but Maurice had exercised his power of fasci- 
nation over Lady Grace to a most wonderful degree, 
and so the course of the young people’s love was made 
very smooth for them in consequence. 

It was a small family dinner, in which Philip had 
been included, at Maurice’s particular wish. 

Looking very closely at Captain Montgomery, it 
might have been remarked that his habitual self-satis- 
fied expression was absent from his handsome face, 
and that there was a restlessness, a hurried sort of 
eagerness in his eyes which did not accord exactly with 
the contentment that his present success should have 
most certainly produced. He laughed and chatted 
with as much apparent ease as ever ; but to a most 
discriminating eye and ear it would have been easy to 
see that his gayety and ease were by no means as 
natural as they might have been. Fortunately for 
him, there was no such eye and ear present. He sat 
beside Sybil, who was too happy to realize anything 
except his presence, and Sir Philip had to give his 
closest and most earnest attention to Lady Grace’s 
conversation, which was usually of a most engrossing 
and wearisome description. 

After dinner Maurice did not remain to smoke with 
Sir Philip and his future father-in-law ; he made his 
way to the drawing-room, and Sybil welcomed him 
with a tender smile and another deep blush. 

He drew her into the conservatory out of sight of 
Lady Grace’s eyes, and there, behind the big palms 
and amid the rich mass of flowers, he put his arm 
about her and kissed her, saying some words which 


104 


LITTLE KIT. 


came to his lips so fluently and meant so little. All at 
once he gave a start. 

“ I am the most remiss of men,” he said. “Imagine 
that I should after all have forgotten it, when it has 
occupied my thoughts all day !” 

“ Forgotten what, dear ?” Sibyl said, nestling close 
to him. 

He kissed her again. 

“ Something I am going to give you — a tiny, humble 
pledge of my affection to you. I will go and get it at 
once !” 

Sibyl held him back. 

“ There is no need, darling. I have you, I do not 
want your present now !” 

“Ah, but I want you to have it, my dear little Sibyl. 
I put it out on my table on purpose to bring it to you 
to-night, and I cannot disappoint myself. You must 
have it. I will be only a few minutes — a quarter of an 
hour at the most. It is horrible to tear myself away even 
for that short time ; but it is my punishment for being 
so forgetful !” 

He kissed her lips, which wore a slightly wistful 
look. She would far rather he had stayed beside her 
here in the soft light, with the scent of the flowers 
about them, and the big palms casting faint shadows 
over their heads. 

There was no jewel in the world could give her such 
delight as to be with him — to let her hand lie in his as 
they sat and whispered of their future. She was, how- 
ever, absolutely unselfish in her love, and as she saw 
he desired to do this, she, of couse, put her own wishes 
on one side. 

“You will be very quick ?” she said, with her pretty 
smile. “ Really, very, very quick ?” 

“ I shall fly !” Maurice answered lightly. And then 


LITTLE KIT. 


105 


he put his arm about her and whispered something 
tender and beautiful, which was as false as it was 
Sweet. 

He waved his hand to her as they parted, and walked 
as hurriedly as he could into the hall. 

“ A hansom !” he said to the butler. “I am going 
to fetch something I have forgotten. Tell Sir Philip 
when he comes out.” 

He got into the cab, and was driven away from the 
big house. He had not gone a hundred yards before 
he put up his stick and stopped the cab, paid the man 
and dismissed him ; then, crossing the road, he skirted 
round the gardens that stood in the center of the 
square. The night was moonless, and his figure was 
not noticeable in the twilight. 

As he neared one of the gates he pushed it eagerly, 
and then he swore under his breath. The gate was 
locked. 

A whole story of what had happened was revealed 
to him in that fact. As though it had been proclaimed 
to him by some loud, strong voice, he knew he should 
never see Kit again as he had seen her during the past 
week. He pushed his hat over his brows and paced to 
and fro slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the house he 
had just left, in case a slender black-robed figure should 
come from it. While he waited a clock somewhere 
near struck ten in clear, silvery tones. 

It was the hour at which he had always found her. 
He peered through the railings. Perhaps she had 
closed the gate by mistake. But even while he looked 
he knew she was not there — would never be there any 
more. 

He cursed himself and his luck as he walked on. 
He had of late cultivated a vague intention of marry- 
ing Sibyl Leith, but he had nothing definite in his 


106 


LITTLE KIT. 


mind, and it certainly was hot for the moment. More 
particularly at this especial moment, when the poor, 
mean thing he called his heart was all engrossed with 
another being who could never be his wife, of course, 
but who was none the more or less desirable on that 
account. 

He had begun his adventure with Kit from vanity, 
and from an honest admiration of her unusual beauty. 

The girl’s absolute innocence was an attraction — the 
contact with her strange poetical nature something 
new. He liked to sit and listen to her dreamy thoughts, 
and watched the varied expression flit across her pale 
face. He loved to bring the changes into her mar- 
velous eyes, and there was a novel amusement in play- 
ing at being a dreamer like herself, and following the 
drift of her thoughts. 

He was so clever he could wind the girl which way 
he liked ; and this being so, it had been easy to impress 
her with his desire for secrecy, where another and 
maybe a younger girl would have hesitated. 

Kit, secure in the armor of her absolute innocence, 
had seen no wrong in anything. He had had no defi- 
nite scheme concerning her at first, but as each day 
went the girl’s fascination grew and grew. 

Her beautiful young love, given so frankly, was 
something delightful. 

Maurice was the ordinary young man of his time — a 
sophist and an egoist. To his mind he would be con- 
ferring a benefit on Kit by taking her out of so uncon- 
genial a sphere as that in which fate had thrust her, 
and constituting himself her protector and friend. 

She was most certainly alone in the world, discarded, 
for some reason, by her kith and kin. Why should she 
not turn to him whom she had learned to love so well, 
and find all she lacked in his care ? 


LITTLE KIT. 


107 


This had been his argument and his thought, and 
only a few short hours before had been his determina- 
tion. 

He had been very guarded and careful in his actions 
with the girl. He had done nothing to alarm her or to 
awake her in the faintest degree from the dreamland 
in which she lived. He meant to bring her to his will 
by the most delicate means. She should be given some 
dainty little home in the country, which she loved. She 
should reign as a queen in this household, and he would 
be her king, her all ! 

Only the night before, as he had driven away from 
her, he had planned everything out carefully. 

He must get her away from the Leiths as quickly as 
possible, before the sympathy and interest Sibyl had 
expressed for her should have developed into a confi- 
dential friendship. 

He knew that no word concerning him could have 
passed between the two girls, and he intended that none 
should. 

Kit should go away quietly, without a word, leaving 
no trace behind her (she would obey him in all), and 
while he held her in his possession, secure from all the 
world's interference or questioning, he would leisurely 
continue his way with the girl whose money was the 
chief object of his desire. 

All this had been not only possible but well-nigh 
certain the night before. Now the scheme had van- 
ished into thin air. 

Even now he could not well have told how it had 
come to pass that the fatal words had been spoken to 
Sibyl. He had been flirting with her, as usual indulg- 
ing in his fashion of making pretty speeches, which had 
a tender sound, but no real meaning. 

For once he overstepped his caution. Sometimes he 


108 


LITTLE KIT. 


hardly remembered what was said, and before he could 
well realize it he found himself the accepted lover of 
Sibyl Leith. 

He was furious with himself — furious beyond meas- 
ure — for more than one reason. He had no desire to be 
married just yet, and the thought of Kit was nothing 
less than a passion with him. He had spent the night 
hours wondering what he had better do, imagining all 
that would happen. 

If he had only prepared the way better he might even 
then have brought Kit away from her present home, and 
have got her safely from London deep in some unknown 
country spot ; but he had a very delicate, difficult task 
to accomplish all this, and, in the meantime, it was 
almost a foregone conclusion that Sibyl would speak of 
her engagement, and the whole thing would be at an 
end with Kit. 

He did not quite know how she would act. She was 
so young, so ignorant of the world, she might be capa- 
ble of doing anything. 

Would she speak of him to Sibyl ? Would she expose 
his treachery ? Would she claim his love ? 

It was an intense relief to him to meet Sibyl and 
know she had learned nothing, and it was a second re- 
lief when he made his way to the square gate, found 
the gardens empty, and the gate locked, although with 
this relief there mingled an irritation and a desire pass- 
ing words. 

Kit’s action was eloquent in its silence. He knew 
full well that at this blow the girl had awakened to the 
knowledge of life in its bitterest sense — that the dream- 
land was gone forever, and that her young heart would 
be struck to the core ; but true to his indomitable ego- 
ism, Maurice Montgomery had no qualms of conscience 
over the destruction his cruel hand had worked ; he 


LITTLE KIT. 


109 


was only full of annoyance and disappointment that 
his plans should have failed so signally, and that he 
had lost something which he would have valued in 
possession just as long as the charm of novelty had ex- 
isted, and which he would then have discarded as easily 
as though a friendless woman’s honor and heart were 
of no more account than an old glove or a broken toy. 

He stayed a little while longer, and then returned to 
Sibyl with a new lie on his lips and anger in his heart ; 
while above, in her small room, Kit was sitting crouched 
up on her bed, tearless, calm, stunned into a dazed, 
desolate state by the horrible blow that had fallen upon 
her so swiftly and so surely 


110 


LITTLE KTT. 


CHAPTER Xlil. 

The day following that quiet dinner at the Leiths’ 
great house in Mayfair Square, Sir Philip Desmond re- 
ceived a little note from Sibyl : 

“ I am sure you will be glad to know that my little friend will 
be very pleased to join Lady Milborough at once. I spoke to her, 
as I promised you last night I would, and she expressed her will- 
ingness to do anything to oblige Lady Milborough. You must 
not think me very vain if I say I know she is sorry to leave me so 
soon ; but after I had told her all you told me, she at once said 
she would go, and that she only hoped she will be able to please 
Lady Milborough. On the whole, though I shall regret losing 
her more than I can say, I am almost glad she has to go so soon ; 
for I am sure she is not strong, and London tries her very much. 

“ Down in the country, with the beautiful fresh air and in that 
dear old house, she will be another creature. I am quite dis- 
tressed about her this morning, she looks so pale; and though 
she assures me she is absolutely well, I don’t feel she is. You 
see, Sir Philip, I am writing to you quite freely on this subject. 

I feel now I have a double claim on your kind friendship, and, in- 
deed, I am so grateful to you for helping me in this matter. 
When once you have met Kate, you will understand, perhaps, 
more fully my deep interest in her. 

“ Poor child ! I do not like to question her, and somehow it 
seems to me as though she would tell all about herself, who she 
was and what her story is; but that her lips are sealed. At all 
events, I know she will be happy with dear Lady Milborough, 
and I fully expect your cousin will fall in love with Kate. We 
are going to drive round this afternoon, so that all final arrange- 
ments can be made, and Kate will join Lady Milborough to-mor- 
row, I should think. Is there a chance of my seeing you at the 


LITTLE KIT. 


Ill 


opera to-night ? Maurice said he should try and induce you to 
come. I hope you will, and then, apart from the pleasure of see- 
ing you, I can tell you all that has been settled. I shall be 
greatly disappointed if she and Lady Milborough do not fall in 
love with each other immediately. With many, many thanks 
and my warmest regards, Yours very sincerely, 

“Sibyl Leith.” 

Philip immediately responded by a few pretty words, 
in which he declared most truthfully his willingness to 
do anything for any friend of Sibyl’s, and then he wrote 
some more letters — one of which was to Constance 
Marlowe, to thank her for her kindness in sending him 
a book which he had once seen on a visit at The Limes 
and casually expressed a wish to read. 

He wrote a pleasant, chatty letter, and stated that it 
was almost a certainty he should start off on his travels 
once again early in the autumn ; but that he should, 
with equal certainty, pay another visit to The Limes 
before this occurred, when he looked forward with much 
pleasure to seeing her once again. At the end of his 
letter he wrote : 

“ I suppose you hear often from your little cousin of the red 
locks who so bewitched me. I hope her Paris school is not quite 
spoiling her, as Maurice Montgomery declared it would. Oh, by 
the way, to play the role of a gossip for once: You will be inter- 
ested to hear that Maurice is engaged to be married almost im- 
mediately to Sibyl Leith. He is to be congratulated. She is a 
charming creature !” 

By the same post by which this letter was delivered 
to Constance there came another in Kit’s handwriting, 
the first that she had sent since her departure. 

Constance opened it hurriedly ; she was not in the 
best of tempers ; she was extremely disappointed that 
Philip Desmond should have gone back to London at 
this particular moment. Things had been going so well 


112 


LITTLE KIT. 


between them, and every day she had felt that she was 
making a step forward in his estimation, and then all 
at once he went away and she was left discomforted. 
It certainly was very hard ; and then every now and 
then the thought of Kit brought an unpleasant sensa- 
tion. 

She had had one stand-up fight with Chris Hornton, 
who flatly refused to believe in the school story, and 
accused her openly of having sent Kit away to some 
horrid place. 

“ If everything were all right and nothing had hap- 
pened, then Kit would have written to me,” the boy 
said, stoutly, championing his lost comrade right loyal- 
ly. “ Kit is as straight as a die, and she won’t play at 
a game of lies to please anybody ; that’s why she 
doesn’t write to me ; I know her. But all the same I 
am her friend, and I want to know what has become 
of her ; so please tell me.” 

“ Kit is in school in Paris,” Constance had answered 
very coldly. But she was not at all comfortable. She 
had never liked Chris, and now she hated him, and she 
was dreadfully afraid of what he would say. 

“ That ’s a lie !” Chris had answered her back, not 
very gallantly ; but he was unhappy and angry, and 
his dislike for Constance was as great as hers for him. 

“ You are a very rude boy, and a most insulting one,” 
Constance had said, and with that they had parted, 
leaving her mind in a disturbed condition. As days 
went by and Chris said nothing and never came near 
her, she began to forget him, and to forget Kit, too. 
This letter from her cousin, coming so unexpectedly 
taken in conjunction with her vexation with Sir Philip 
— which vexation was by no means soothed when she 
read the postscript to his letter — made Constance angry 
and uneasy. 


LITTLE KIT. 


113 


She opened Kit’s note, expecting 1 she scarcely knew 
what, and her fair brows were knit as she read. 

The girl wrote quietly and very coldly : 

“Dear Constance: I am about to make a change in my 
plans, and I think it only right to acquaint you of the fact. 
Through the kindness of Miss Leith I have received an offer to 
live with Lady Milborough as companion and reader at a salary 
of fifty pounds a year. You can easily imagine that I prefer 
this method of earning my living to the one for which I was en- 
gaged here, and therefore I am sure you will not be surprised to 
hear that I have accepted Lady Milborough’s offer, and that in 
fact I begin my duties with her immediately. My address will 
be Ravelstoke Mainstead, in case you should have occasion to 
write to me. I hope you are well, and your mother. If you see 
Chris you might tell him I am well, and that I never forget him. 
Of course, it is not necessary for me to add that I have not 
spoken of my connection with you, and that I am known only by 
the name which I took on leaving The Limes. 

“With once again many thanks for the help you gave me (1 
inclose you a postal order for the money you lent me), I am al- 
ways your affectionate cousin, Katherine Marlowe.” 

Constance was considerably surprised and by no 
means pleased at this letter. She was in contradiction 
with everything at this moment, but she chose to put 
it all on Kit. The girl had no right to do what she had 
done without first consulting her (Constance’s) wishes, 
and most certainly this arrangement was not one of 
which she would have approved. 

She knew Lady Milborough well by name, and she 
was well aware that, old woman as she was, she held a 
very popular and successful place in the fashionable 
world. In her house Kit would be sure to meet with 
some one who might have seen her down at Thornton 
— perhaps with Sir Philip Desmond (Constance was 
ignorant of the relationship that existed between Sir 
Philip and Lady Milborough) or Maurice Montgomery. 


114 


LITTLE KIT. 


In fact, she was sure to meet Maurice, since he was 
now Sibyl Leith’s fianct, and it was more than evident 
to Constance that Sibyl had taken a great interest in 
Kit. Constance knew Sibyl Leith. It was just the 
sort of thing she would do. When she had arranged 
for Kit to go to Lady Grace’s household she had com- 
pletely forgotten Sibyl, or it might have made a differ- 
ence in her plans. 

She sat thinking very deeply, and the more she 
thought the more uncomfortable she was. She was so 
afraid Philip Desmond would discover she had lied to 
him. She knew the sort of man she had to deal with, 
and she knew equally that this w T ould be something 
such a man would neither forget nor forgive in any 
woman. She did not mind about Maurice Montgomery, 
except in so far as he would be sure to recognize Kit 
and tell Desmond. 

She determined all at once on going straight up to 
London. There were so many reasons why she should 
go, chief of all being a near proximity to Philip Des- 
mond, and, secondly, that she could see Kit and per- 
sonally express her disapproval of this new plan. She 
must go at once, or she would be too late. Her first 
move was to telegraph to the friend who usually played 
into her hands when Constance wanted emancipation 
from her mother’s thrall for a few weeks. If she could 
not stay with this friend, she would go to a hotel and 
her mother would be none the wiser. 

The thought of action, the idea that she would see 
Philip and be able to continue her work of winning 
him, woke her out of her troubled thoughts and did 
her good. In her shallow, selfish, worldly way, Con- 
stance Marlowe had learned to care for Philip Des- 
mond as she had never cared for any living soul before. 

Sibyl Leith was in great delight. Her scheme for 


little kit. 


115 


Kit’s future seemed as though it would be more than 
successful. As she had foreseen and imagined, Lady 
Milborough conceived at once an interest and a liking 
for the pale-faced girl with her wonderful hair and 
still more wonderful eyes, who was to come and live 
with her and be her companion. And Kit, suffering as 
she was, numb almost with the agony in her heart, 
found it impossible to resist the sweetness and gentle- 
ness of the old woman who received her so warmly and 
seemed so glad to see her. 

Kit was as eager now to leave the big house in May- 
fair Square as she had been eager before to cling to it. 

She could have fallen on her knees and thanked 
Heaven when she heard that Lady Milborough pre- 
ferred she should begin her duties at once. 

“ I am sorry to rob you, my dear,” the old lady had 
said to Sibly ; “ but the fact is, I want to get down to 
my dear old home in the country. Your big, noisy, 
brilliant London is too much for me. I am not strong 
enough for it, and I want to get away at once. I 
should be glad if Miss Lowe will travel with me, and 
be introduced to my gardens before all the roses are 
dead.” 

“And Kate will go gladly,” Sibyl answered ; “and I 
shall be glad for her to go, for perhaps she will be able 
to steal some of your roses for her pale, thin cheeks. 
She knows how sorry I am to lose her, but I am not 
going to be selfish.” 

Kit said nothing, but her hand went out to the 
speaker. 

Lady Milborough, looking at her pale young face, 
felt a pang of sympathy run through her heart. 

She was old in years, but she was young in senti- 
ment and feelings, and she felt, without words, that 
she was in the presence of a mental suffering almost 


116 


LITTLE KIT. 


more than could be borne. She held out her hand in- 
voluntarily. 

“And so you will come? And you will not be 
afraid of a dull, quiet life with an old woman, my 
dear ?” 

Kit bent her head and kissed the wrinkled hand, but 
still she said nothing, only her beautiful eyes were 
eloquent with all her lips could not say. 

She drove away with Sibyl in silence. Fortunately, 
Sibyl was so lost in her own happy thoughts she did 
not notice the change that had come over the girl be- 
side her. It is true she had observed Kit’s pale cheeks 
and the dark -blue shadows round her eyes ; her heart, 
too, was touched by the look in these same eyes — a 
strained, nervous expression that bespoke intense suf- 
fering, either mentally or bodily. 

To Sibyl Leith this look conveyed only the impres- 
sion that the girl had not yet recovered from the 
severe nervous headache that had prostrated her so 
utterly the day before, and Kit might have spared her- 
self the great anxiety that beset her that her girl friend 
should see a difference in her and want to know the 
cause. 

The long, awful hours that had gone since that mo- 
ment when the fullness of her wrong, the absolute 
comprehension of the man’s baseness and treachery had 
broken upon her, had left an indelible trace on Kit’s 
mind and heart, developing, with that marvelous 
rapidity which grief works in a sensitive nature, emo- 
tions and traits of which she had not even known herself 
to be possessed, and which surprised her by their keen- 
ness and strength. 

She underwent a sort of mental transformation as 
she lay sleepless through the night that seemed inter- 
minable. The sweetness, the generosity, the beauty of 


LITTLE KIT. 


117 


her nature was clouded for the moment by uncontrol- 
lable passion of bitterness, of pride, of regret. All the 
visionary softness of her dreamland was swept away ; 
life stretched before her as it really was. For a time 
all the goodness in it was blotted out. 

Kit forgot the faithful love of her old schoolmate, 
the honest, rough affection of Hepsie, and the sincere 
and undoubted interest of Sibyl Leith. 

She could only remember the dark side, the cruel, 
harsh tongue of the woman who had given her charity 
so grudgingly ; the selfishness and utter indifference of 
Constance ; the jealousy and dislike that had been 
manifested toward her by the servants in this big 
house, and, last of all, the heartlessness, the wickedness 
of Maurice Montgomery, whose hand had so wantonly 
been stretched out to destroy the youth and beauty of 
her mind, to take away her heart and replace it with a 
stone. 

She shed no tears ; there is some suffering too great 
for any such relief. Hers was of this nature. 

It was not the grief of a girl ; it was the sorrow of a 
woman, and with the woman just awakened in her, Kit 
feared lest the truth should escape her in some way or 
other and attract Sibyl’s attention ; and, above all, 
Sibyl Leith must never, never know this truth — must 
not know, indeed, that there was aught to trouble Kit 
of a deeper nature than those almost insignificant 
troubles which Sibyl had seemed to realize and under- 
stand without words or explanation. 

It was an intense relief to Kit to find that Sibyl made 
no remark about her appearance, except one of sympa- 
thy that her headache should have been so bad ; and 
as they drove in silence to the big house, Kit felt that 
this danger that she had dreaded so much was over 
altogether, for her strength and hold over herself would 


118 


LITTLE KIT. 


increase as the time went on, and if her face still wore 
its pallor and her eyes had the same worn, pained look, 
it would be easy for Sibyl to account for this by 
the knowledge of the regret Kit must feel at leaving 
her. When they reached the house Sibyl insisted on 
taking Kit up to her room. 

“ You are to rest very quietly. You look as white as 
a ghost, and remember you have a journey before you 
to-morrow. Oh, Kate, dear, 1 hope you will be happy. 
It seems so unkind for me to let you go, and yet — ” 

Kit kissed the hand she held gently. 

“ I will be happy. I give you my promise, dear 
Sibyl,” she answered ; and, indeed, she felt as though 
the future spent with this kind, gentle old lady must 
indeed be happiness, there was such an element of 
peace about it. 

She was glad to rest, as Sibyl desired, and she lay very 
still, with closed eyes, lost in a maze of thought that 
was too sad, too miserable, too confused to be disen- 
tangled at this moment, far into the night, never mov- 
ing, indeed, till Sibyl crept in on her way to bed to kiss 
her good-night and to show her much tender kindness. 
It was dawn before Kit fell asleep, worn out by her 
mental suffering ; and when she awoke, the sun shone 
in through the window, proclaiming that day was well 
born, the day that was to be the beginning of Kit’s new 
life under Lady Milborough’s care and guidance. 

To Constance Marlowe’s intense annoyance, she 
found it not easy to manage her mother with regard to 
her journey to London. Mrs. Marlowe had suffered a 
blow when Kit had disappeared so mysteriously from 
her home. It was a bitter thing to her ever to ac- 
knowledge a wrong ; but it was also impossible for her 
not to feel that she had gone a little too far in her very 
unjust anger with the girl, and this knowledge had the 


LITTLE KIT. 


119 


effect of making her more disagreeable and austere 
than ever. 

Constance had a very unpleasant time ; the subject 
of Kit had not been broached between her mother and 
herself. After the morning when Constance had in- 
formed Mrs. Marlowe that the girl she so much dis- 
liked would trouble her no more, as she had gone away 
and would accept no further charity, she did not en- 
lighten her mother further than to say that she had 
given out to the neighborhood around that Kit had been 
sent to school, as the best means of satisfactorily ac- 
counting for her absence. 

The whole matter gave Mrs. Marlowe considerable 
annoyance and some pain ; for hard, unsympathetic, 
ungenerous as she was, she abominated any deceit and 
falsehood, and, moreover, she had decided qualms of 
conscience over the fate of the girl whom her dead 
husband had bequeathed to her care. 

When she saw this anxiety Constance confided to her 
mother the intelligence that she knew Kit was well and 
in safe hands, having received news of her, and after 
this she said no more. Kit’s name was never mentioned, 
and life went as usual at The Limes. When Constance 
broached the subject of her proposed visit to town, she 
was considerably upset to find her mother by no means 
inclined toward it, and the whole matter required such 
delicate manipulation that, by the time Miss Marlowe 
found herself at last en route to London, she feared very 
much that one part of her errand would be fruitless. 

It was almost a week since she had heard from Kit, 
and she had then announced her immediate departure 
from the Leiths. By this time she would be with Lady 
Milborough, and — who could tell ? — perhaps already she 
had met Philip Desmond and upset everything. 

Constance’s first duty was a visit to Lady Grace 


120 


LITTLE KIT. 


Leith, ostensibly to express her congratulations on 
Sibyl's engagement, in reality to find out all she could 
about Kit. She was received by Lady Grace alone. 
Sibyl was out riding with her lover. Constance very 
soon turned the subject on Kit, and her surmise was, 
of course, confirmed. 

Lady Grace was full of exclamations over her daugh- 
ter’s strange interest and sympathy for this maid Miss 
Marlowe had been so good as to send. 

“ I really scarcely saw her,” Lady Grace said ; “ but 
Sibyl took one of her extraordinary infatuations about 
the girl, declared her to be a princess in disguise, and 
never rested till she took her away from her proper 
sphere. I can only hope it will turn out well with Lady 
Milborough. I should have made some strong protest 
against the arrangement had it not been for the fact 
that I felt, with the character you had given her, she 
must be at least respectable and honest, and it is Lady 
Milborough’s affair if she does not suit in other ways. 
They have gone into the country, and Sibyl declares 
that Lady Milborough has already written, saying she 
is delighted with the girl. If so, it is highly satisfac- 
tory ; but you know what Sibyl is,” and Lady Grace 
shrugged her shoulders. 

Constance smiled, but was not satisfied or comfort- 
able. 

“ I suppose you see a good deal of Sir Philip Des- 
mond ?” she said, when she spoke. “You know it was 
he who wrote and told me of the engagement.” 

“ Yes, he comes very frequently. He dines with us 
to-night. Will you accept a very unceremonious invi- 
tation and come, too ? I know Sibyl will be delighted 
if you will.” 

Constance accepted eagerly and drove away with a 
pretty flush in her cheeks, looking very dainty and 


LITTLE KIT. 


121 


lovely in her summer gown and soft laces. Her heart 
beat more evenly now. 

Philip had evidently not gone into the country to see 
Lady Milborough, and it was probable that if he did 
pay his kinswoman a visit before she left he would not 
meet Kit. She could not be sure of this, of course, un- 
til after she had seen him. 

She dressed for the dinner in her most becoming 
gown, and devised schemes as she dressed. 

If he had seen Kit, she must think of some story to 
tell him. Kit, she knew, would have said nothing to 
him. It was wonderful how much faith Constance had 
in her cousin. Lacking all noble and honest qualities 
herself, she was none the less glad to acknowledge 
their power when they could do her a service. 

“ I shall know the instant I look at him if he has seen 
her," she thought to herself, and for one moment her 
heart failed her, and she turned sick with sudden fear 
lest Philip Desmond’s eyes should meet hers and 
scourge her with their contempt. 

She realized in a moment like this how deeply the 
thought of this man had grown into her, how much he 
was to her. 

Sibyl ran to greet her, and while Constance kissed 
and was kissed, her quick eyes had gone to Philip Des- 
mond’s distinguished figure in the background. 

“ He knows nothing,” was her swift thought, and the 
color rushed into her cheeks, making her beautiful face 
more beautiful. 

Sir Philip welcomed her warmly. He liked her very 
much, and he had been impressed with all the nice 
things Lady Sinclair had told him concerning Miss 
Marlowe. 

Being absolutely innocent of the depths of artfulness 
to which a match-making mind can descend, he, of 


122 


LITTLE KIT. 


course, could not know that Lena had allowed herself 
to embroider a little on simple facts, and to him the 
story of Constance’s absolute devotion to her mother, 
her unselfishness, her womanliness, her goodness in 
general made up a picture of a charming being whom 
it was impossible not to revere and admire. 

Constance Marlowe’s sharp, calculating mind was not 
long in appreciating a subtle change in Maurice Mont- 
gomery. Her eyes saw what none of the others saw. 
The restless expression on the handsome face, the con- 
straint in the manner, the evidence, in many little ways, 
of the existence of some trouble which was new and 
not small. 

Constance felt a thrill of malicious pleasure in this 
observation. She disliked Maurice, and her vanity 
owed him a grudge which she would pay one of these 
days. 

She noticed that he ate next to nothing, and drank 
far more than was wise for him ; that his manner when 
he spoke to Sibyl was almost painfully artificial, and 
that on the least possible opportunity he lapsed into 
thought which was not of a peaceful nature. 

She glanced now and then at Sir Philip, and was 
astonished that so keen an observer as he was should 
be blind to the change in the young man. 

“It must be money,” Constance determined to her- 
self. “ That is why he has hurried on the marriage. 
He cares no more for Sibyl than he does for the chair 
on which he is sitting, but he wants her money.” 

Maurice lifted his handsome eyes at this moment, 
and as he met Constance’s steady gaze, he frowned, 
and to himself swore suddenly. He could not fail to 
understand the meaning of Miss Marlowe’s scrutiny, 
and he fidgeted beneath it. 

“ Curse her !” he said savagely. “ Her eyes look as 


LITTLE KIT. 


123 


if they could read one through and through. She ’s a 
cat ! I hate her ! The sort of woman who would make 
mischief in Paradise ! Well, she can’t do me much 
harm, and I can show her up a bit. She would not 
seem such an angel to Philip if he knew she could lie 
in such a splendid fashion.” 

Perhaps something of this malice and power made 
themselves felt to Constance. Be that as it may, she 
turned her eyes away from studying Maurice. For a 
moment she felt a return of her former discomfort. 

After dinner she and Sibyl retired to a couch to 
chat about the trousseau and all the attendant excite- 
ment, and then Constance got that for which she had 
determined to angle, namely, an invitation from Sibyl 
to be one of the bridesmaids. 

“ It will not be a grand wedding,” Sibyl said. “ I 
mean nothing very grand. Maurice dislikes the fuss 
and the publicity.” 

“Um!” Constance thought to herself. “Not like 
Mr. Maurice, as a general rule. What is wrong, I won- 
der ? This little fool thinks he adores her. She is 
easily deceived. It must be some money scrape. 
There can be nothing else.” 

It was a great satisfaction to her to realize that she 
would be associated with Sibyl’s marriage. It was a 
splendid excuse for prolonging her stay in town, and 
would afford many more opportunities for meeting 
Philip Desmond than she could possibly have managed 
otherwise. 

Constance’s brain was busy while she sat discussing 
“ chiffons ” with Sibyl. Her first act must be to try to 
get Kit away from Lady Milborough before there was 
a chance of her meeting with Sir Philip. She did not 
quite know how this was to be arranged, but some 
plan would present itself before many hours had gone. 


124 


LITTLE KIT. 


The best and safest way would be to see Kit person- 
ally. The journey down to Lady Milborough’s country 
home would be a decided nuisance, but this annoyance 
was nothing compared to that which would most surely 
arise if Philip Desmond were to become aware of the 
truth concerning the girl in whom he had become so 
strangely interested. Constance could not help regard- 
ing it as a most malignant fate that had thrown Kit 
into a path that must lead sooner or later, unless pre- 
vented, to a meeting with Philip Desmond. 

After she had discussed her dresses and all the rest 
of the bridal finery, Sibyl turned the conversation on 
Kit. She knew that it was through Constance Mar- 
lowe’s recommendation that the girl had entered her 
mother’s household, and though she had determined 
she would ask no questions and would wait to know all 
her history from Kit herself, she could not help bring- 
ing the subject up and expressing all her sincere ad- 
miration and liking for the girl whom she had so 
warmly befriended. 

Constance maintained a very composed air, though 
this perpetual introduction of Kit at every turn of her 
existence now was irritating to a degree. She pre- 
tended she knew nothing personally of Kit, only that 
she was a respectable girl and willing to work. Sibyl’s 
enthusiasm on the subject of Kit’s beauty and refine- 
ment did not give Constance much pleasure, and she 
was relieved beyond measure when Lady Grace came 
to join the conclave on dress and Kit was dismissed. 

In the dining-room Philip Desmond sat talking poli- 
tics with Sir George Leith, and Maurice Montgomery 
stood at the window smoking his cigar and gazing out 
through the summer twilight upon the square gardens 
beyond. A strange mood had fallen upon him in the 
last few days. He did not know himself. For the 


LITTLE KIT. 


125 


first time in his career of selfishness Maurice was mis- 
erable. He was learning- the unpleasant lesson of keen 
disappointment, and something more besides. Kit’s ab- 
solute silence, her perfect dignity, her quiet acceptance 
of her fate, filled him with an admiration, a desire, a 
longing which was as near akin to love as anything he 
could ever feel. Now that she was gone from him, 
now that he had lost her forever, the fullness of her 
beauty in soul and body rushed upon him completely. 

There was for him now only one being in the wide 
world, and that was the girl who by the merest chance 
had been snatched away from the shame and ruin he 
had laid out for her. No reproach that her lips could 
have uttered would have aroused one tithe of the feel- 
ing in this man’s breast that her most eloquent silence 
and disappearance had done. 

He was not over-sensitive where morality was con- 
cerned, but he had an uncomfortable sensation every 
now and then as the thought of her contempt for him 
came over him. And mingling with all this -was the 
rage of a man who had made mistakes. 

He was furious with himself — he who was ordinarily 
so clever — to have done what he had done. He who 
never had been balked in his life yet, to have got what 
he desired almost into his grasp, and then to have let 
it escape him altogether ! 

The whole affair was something too irritating, too 
disappointing for adequate description, and Maurice 
told himself he was not only a miserable man and very 
unhappy, but a fool into the bargain, as he stood gaz- 
ing at the spot where Kit had been wont to wander in 
the moonlight. 

The desire to see her once again, to gaze into her 
eyes, to hear her sweet, tender voice, became almost 
unbearable. 


126 


LITTLE KIT. 


He turned savagely away. 

“She ought to be mine,” he said to himself sullenly, 
and then he set his teeth. “ By heaven, she is mine ! 
She loves me, body and soul. She will never love 
again. I have that satisfaction, at least. She may hide 
herself from me forever. She will never change her 
heart. She loves me, and she always will, whatever 
comes.” 

There was not a shadow of remorse in his heart for 
the wrong he would have done her, nor a grain of re- 
pentance for the wanton sin he would have committed. 
His misery was the misery of a selfish man who suffers 
disappointment for the first time ; his regret all for 
himself. Indeed, as the moments went by, he grew 
almost angry with Kit. 

He determined she should have seen him before tak- 
ing herself so quickly from him as she had done, with- 
out giving him a chance of meeting her. He did not 
consider that she had treated him fairly. He scarcely 
knew what to think, and what not to. 

His temper was not improved by so much mental 
disturbance. He was so sulky and evidently out of 
sorts later in the evening that Philip Desmond could 
not help knitting his brows. And Sibyl’s gentle heart 
was pained and anxious, for she thought he must be 
ill ; and if Maurice should be ill, then was the sunshine 
of life itself blotted out for Sibyl Leith. 

******* 

And while he stood gazing out at the square gardens, 
growing angry with himself and every one concerned, 
the girl whose youth he had so ruthlesly shattered sat 
under the branches of an aged tree, watching the 
moonbeams dance and flicker through the leaves on to 
the grass beneath. 

The night was warm and beautiful, the sky a canopy 




LITTLE KIT. 127 

of deep, clear blue, broken only by stars ; behind her 
stretched the quaint old house, pretty lights gleaming 
from the windows ; around her were the grounds 
sweet with the scent of old-world flowers. All was 
peaceful. 

The distant sounds of the country life came only at 
intervals ; she was alone. She sat with her arms 
propped on her knees, her face in her hands ; her eyes 
were hot and tearless ; her heart a pain in her breast. 

She was mourning for her dead youth, her beautiful 
lost dreams, her broken faith, her wasted love. 

She was sorrowing for the future that lay before the 
girl whom she already loved so well ; she was suffering 
the anguish all pure, high-strung minds and hearts 
suffer when the actual knowledge of the existence of 
evil is forced incontrovertibly upon them. 

This was her grief, this her burden ; but from the 
man who had worked the evil Kit shrank as she would 
have recoiled from some venomous reptile. 

To her, Maurice Montgomery, stripped of all that had 
seemed so fair, so beautiful, was horrible, terrible ; the 
embodiment of all falseness, treachery and cruelty. 

The love she had borne had been for another being, 
not for him. She felt a rush of hot, proud contempt 
through her veins when she recalled him, and she 
prayed most earnestly that she might never see him 
again. 

She was not afraid of him ; she only wished to forget 
him. The past she would cling to, for it held the 
beauty of her illusions and faiths ; but Maurice had no 
place in these, so she would cast him out of her thoughts 
as completely as she would cast away a poisonous weed 
that had found its way into a garden of fragrant 
flowers and threatened to destroy and blight their 
beauty. 


128 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The position regarding Kit was one that gave Con- 
stance Marlowe much food for thought. In fact, it was 
so pressing as to disturb her sleep and destroy her 
appetite. 

“ Why must she choose to be with a woman who is 
not only a great friend but a relative of the one man 
she must not meet ?” that was Constance’s impatient 
query all the time. It was so annoying ! Nothing 
could have been better than for the girl to have 
gone down into the country, if only she had gone with 
any one except the old lady with whom she was. Con- 
stance thought very deeply while she brushed her soft 
brown hair the morning after that dinner at the 
Leiths’. There was much that was pleasant to ponder 
over. She had certainly done a very good thing in 
having arranged to be Sibyl’s bridesmaid, and Sir 
Philip had expressed the most charming interest in this 
fact. He appeared to be very glad to see her, too, and 
they had sat for quite half an hour in the conservatory 
chatting together. All this was delightful ; also the fact 
that he had offered his services to see her safely home, 
and had driven in a hansom with her up to her friend’s 
house. 

Yes, this was all very nice and very satisfactory, but 
it made the question of Kit only the more difficult, for 
Sir Philip had by no means forgotten the “ red-haired 
little witch ” whom he had chanced to see that bygone 
morning, and he had asked a good many questions con- 


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LITTLE KIT. 


120 


cerning this same little witch’s welfare at school, and 
of her progress there. 

“ And I suppose she will be coming out into the 
world next year ?” he had said. 

She parted and brushed back her soft, pretty hair in 
the Madonna fashion in which she always wore it, and 
she looked at herself in a cold, calculating sort of way 
as she stood before her mirror. 

There was no denying her beauty ; it was absolute. 
Few women could lay claim to such charms as she pos- 
sessed, and yet it was bitter mortification to a nature 
like Constance’s to have to acknowledge to herself she 
was not a success. 

She had her admirers, of course — in fact, every one 
always admired her ; but in the several cases where 
she had desired most to attract, and had cherished most 
thought and hope, Constance had always failed. Philip 
Desmond was not the first man whom she had wished 
to marry for position, or some other reason ; but with 
none of the others had her hope been so strong, her 
desire so keen as with him. Each day the prospect of 
a future as his wife grew more and more desirable. 
vShe wanted to be married now ; she was weary of her 
mother and her life in general, and her ambitious mind 
pictured a series of social triumphs when, as Lady 
Desmond, wife to one of the most distinguished and 
celebrated men of the day, she should take her high 
place in the world of fashion, rank and wealth. 

Her heart beat fast as she conjured it all up, and 
then she grew suddenly cold and faint as she remem- 
bered how by one mischance the whole magnificent 
future could be spoiled and lost to her for ever. 

She felt assured that Philip Desmond would never 
even take her hand in friendship again could he know 
for a certainty that she had told him, not one, but a 


130 


LITTLE KIT. 


succession of deliberate falsehoods. She had not 
troubled herself in the very least about what sort of 
life the young girl would have to face ; she had shown 
neither womanly interest nor cousinly sympathy in the 
matter. It had suited her purposes to get Kit away 
safely and swiftly, and she had snatched at the first 
chance that suggested itself to her, without giving a 
thought to Kit’s feelings in any way whatever. 

No ; the clearer these things came before Constance, 
the more certainly did she determine she must prevent 
the knowledge of their ever reaching Philip Desmond’s 
ears, until at least she had secured for herself the 
future she so much desired. But 'how must she act ? 
What do ? 

She sat a long time staring at herself in the glass, for 
once blind to her own reflection, lost in her confused 
and confusing thoughts. 

She rose at last hurriedly. 

She must go down to the country and see Kit. It 
was the best plan, and there was no time to be lost — it 
was already midday. As she drove to the station, 
Constance was busy concocting the story best likely to 
work her will and get her cousin away from Lady 
Milborough. Somehow she felt she would not have an 
easy task ; the tone of Kit’s letter had been a revela- 
tion to her, showing her that there was a great deal 
more in the girl’s character and nature than she had 
ever troubled herself to imagine could be possible. 

What if Kit should refuse to consent to her pro- 
posal ? 

Constance set her small teeth hard and clenched her 
hands. Having fixed her mind on working out a plan 
to prevent at all hazards a meeting between Kit and 
Philip, she would not relinquish it. She was clever 
enough to know the best way to work with her cousin ; 


LITTLE KIT. 


131 


she knew how the girl had always responded to affec- 
tion. Soft words she was certain would win her all 
she required, and then she would only have to touch 
on Kit’s gratitude, and the game was hers absolutely. 

Lady Milborough’s house was situated some dis- 
tance from the country station, and Constance had to 
charter a fly to reach there. The beauties of the quaint 
old place were completely lost on her ; she cared for 
none of them. She was longing, as she had never 
longed before, to see her cousin’s form, with the hair 
that had become so objectionable to her, and the 
fathomless eyes which stirred her jealousy into being. 

She alighted at the old-fashioned porch, a dainty 
vision in her smart, summer gown, and asked in her 
sweetest way to be allowed to see Kate Lowe, who had 
just come to reside beneath Lady Milborough’s roof. 
The butler, grown gray-haired in his well-loved mis- 
tress’s service, gazed with much admiration at Miss 
Marlowe. 

He answered that Miss Lowe was at present with 
her ladyship, who was unfortunately not very well, 
and was compelled to remain in her room. If the 
young lady would kindly come in and wait, he would 
send up and inform Miss Lowe a visitor wished to see 
her. 

Constance followed him into the long, low-roofed 
drawing-room, with its white-draped windows opening 
on the lawn, and its atmosphere scented with roses. 

She was a little nervous and not at all comfortable. 
It was a strange feeling, but she felt all at once as 
though she were afraid of her interview with Kit. 

She walked restlessly about the room looking at the 
pictures and curios scattered about, in a concentrated 
fashion, yet seeing none of them, and then the door 
opened and Kit came in. 


132 


LITTLE KIT. 


Was it Kit ? 

Constance was amazed into momentary silence by 
the girl’s appearance. It was not only the pretty pink 
cotton frock (one of several gowns that Sibyl Leith 
had insisted on providing for her friend) that en- 
hanced to a marvelous degree the exquisite tint of the 
clear pale skin and the masses of deep copper-red hair ; 
it was the change in Kit’s whole bearing — the lithe 
head borne as proudly as though she were a queen 
over a vast empire, the lips that were smileless, the 
eyes full of some subtle expression, which Constance 
could not understand in the very least — all spoke of a 
marked change. 

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Con- 
stance laughed a little awkwardly. 

“ Well, Kit, are you not going to say you are glad to 
see me ? I have come a long way to pay you this 
visit.” 

Kit came a little farther forward into the room, and 
stood with one hand resting on a chair-back. 

“ It is very good of you,” she said, gently. She 
paused a moment. “ V'ou want me to do something, 
Constance ?” she asked, in the same tone, after that 
pause. 

Constance Marlowe flushed hotly. What had come 
to Kit ? The transformation in the girl was little short 
of marvelous. She felt more and more assured of the 
difficulty of the task before her, but she was none the 
less determined to carry it through. 

Kit in this altered condition was something infinitely 
more dangerous than Constance pared to realize. Her 
jealousy leaped into a fiercer flame than before. She 
had hard work to control it. Her lips showed white 
and thin as she smiled. 

“ Must I necessarily want something because I have 


LITTLE KIT. 


133 


come to see you, Kit ? You are not very kind, I must 
say.” 

Kit’s lips quivered an instant, then grew firm. 

“ I am sorry if I seem unkind,” she answered. “ I 
do not mean to be so, Constance, but — ” 

Her pause was eloquent. It said as clearly as words : 
“ But I do not quite understand why you, who have 
never taken the faintest trouble for or about me all 
this time, should all at once pay me a visit which de- 
mands a long and tedious journey unless you require 
something of me.” 

Constance completely comprehended that pause. 
She immediately lost her temper, and, in consequence, 
changed her tactics. What use to annoy herself by 
acting a part which would have no effect ? She threw 
herself into an easy-chair and laughed shortly. 

“ I had not given you credit for so much discrimina- 
tion,” she said, coldly and quietly ; “ but as you have 
shown me you possess it in a well-developed degree, I 
may as well be frank. You are right ; I do want you 
to do something, and that is why I am here. I desire 
you to leave this place immediately, and return to 
London with me this afternoon !” 

Kit started a little in surprise, and the color flashed 
into her cheeks. She looked very beautiful in this 
moment. She did not speak immediately. 

“You wish this? Why ?” she asked, when she did 
speak. 

“I have got good reasons,” Constance answered, 
shortly. 

“I should like to hear them,” Kit said, very 
quietly. 

The cousins gazed at each other in silence for a 
moment. Constance measured swords with Kit in that 
glance, and at the realization that her power over the 


134 


LITTLE KIT. 


girl was gone, her jealousy and dislike, augmented by 
her fear of consequences, became hatred. 

“ I do not recognize your right to ask this,” she said, 
haughtily, and with a touch of her mother’s autocratic 
manner. “What I do recognize is my right to claim 
the result of the gratitude you expressed so fluently 
when you had need of my help the other day.” 

“ You will not find me ungrateful, Constance.” 

Kit was very pale now. 

“ Give me your reasons for asking me to do this 
thing, and if it be possible, with my sense of duty and 
honor, I will act as you desire.” 

Constance got up and walked about the room swiftly. 
She was very angry. 

“ I have no other reason to give you except that it is 
my wish you should leave this house. I don’t know 
what sense of duty or honor can be clearer than that 
which is due to me, not only as the person who helped 
you in your hour of need but as the daughter of my 
mother, on whose bounty you have lived so many 
years.” 

Kit looked at her cousin full out of her magnificent 
eyes. 

“You have chosen the wrong argument, Constance,” 
she said, in low yet clear tones ; her hand, resting on 
the oaken chair, trembled a little, and her heart beat 
fast and heavy under her pink bodice. She was pale to 
her very lips. “ To conjure by taunts of my long de- 
pendence is not likely to be successful. I do not need 
you to teach me where my duty and honor lie. I have 
never failed in either where you and your mother have 
been concerned. I am no longer a dependent. I no 
longer live on charity. For the bread I have received, 
the clothes I have worn, I have ever been grateful ; 
but pride is as great as gratitude, and I shall be able. 


LITTLE KIT. 


135 


please Heaven, to repay your mother every penny she 
has expended on me before many years have gone. As 
for you, 1 realize how poor a thing your aid to me was. 
Had you not need of me now, you would not remember 
I was even alive. I gave you, Constance, more love 
and sincere admiration in the past than you can possi- 
bly have known. I have loved you as though you 
were my sister. I have been so proud of you I have 
believed in you ! I would not let myself think you 
were cold and hard, but facts are indisputable witnesses. 
You have yourself torn down the veil from my eyes 
and shown me what you really are. You are my kins- 
woman, but there is no affection in your heart for me. 
It will be better for us that we do not meet again. Our 
paths in life are far apart ; we can be free of each 
other, and it will be happier so.” 

Constance listened in the silence that betokens intense 
anger. 

“You refuse ! You refuse !” she said, hotly. “You 
will not do what I ask !” 

“ Give me your reason for asking this, and, as I said 
just now, if it is possible, I will do what you want ; 
but,” her voice faltered, “ I have received more kind- 
ness, more tenderness in the week I have been beneath 
this roof than 1 have ever thought it possible I should 
know. Lady Milborough has need of me. Unless your 
reason is most powerful, I cannot — I will not give her 
pain and disappointment by leaving her when I am likely 
to be a comfort to her. Surely,” she smiled faintly, 
“surely you must yourself see that what I ask is not 
only reasonable, but right. I am not a free agent now 
I have accepted an engagement I must fulfill, unless 
some most urgent circumstances arise to prevent me. 
Tell me why you wish me to leave Lady Milborough 
in this sudden way, and — ” 


136 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ You had no right to come here. You should have 
consulted me first. You were very well off where you 
were. It was disgraceful to do what you have done, 
to worm your way into Sibyl Leith’s most * foolish 
generosity, and — ” 

Kit put out her hand. 

“ Stop !” she said, quietly, imperiously. “ Stop ! 
You shall say no more to me ! You have already said 
too much.” 

Constance’s face, grown crimson in her hotly-uttered 
speech, turned suddenly pale. 

vShe stood silent an instant, and then moved slowly 
toward Kit. She was hardly sane in this moment — the 
absolute realization that she had failed, and failed, too, 
chiefly through her own bad management, infuriated 
her into another being. 

In all the years Kit had known her cousin, she had 
never seen her like this before. Even the delicate 
beauty seemed gone. With that hard, wild look in 
place of her ordinary gentle softness, Constance seemed 
an old and almost plain woman. 

Her lips moved, but no words came. The vehemence 
of her anger paralyzed her speech. And she stood 
there, with Kit gazing at her in pain and sorrow 
mingled. A man’s voice, sounding clear and hearty, 
came to their ears : 

“ All right, Mason, I ’ll have a cup of tea out here. 
It ’s cooler outside. And you can send up and tell her 
ladyship I am here. Tell her not to hurry about seeing 
me for an hour or so, as I have brought down my traps 
and shall stay the night.” 

The speaker came into view as he finished. He had 
passed through the old hall, and had emerged now on 
to the lawn just in front of the open windows. 

As the sound of this voice came to Constance Mar- 


LITTLE KIT. 


137 


lowe’s ears she gave a great start. Her breath came 
from her ashen lips in gasping sighs. 

She stretched out her hand in a blind, helpless fashion, 
and as Kit started forward to seize it eagerly and in 
much fear, Constance’s anger, fear and sudden horror 
slipped from her comprehension in a curious, dreamlike 
fashion. She staggered and fell against Kit’s slender 
form ; and as Philip Desmond turned hastily, startled 
by her sudden cry, he found Kit kneeling, trembling, 
on the ground, bending over a huddled woman’s form, 
whose white face looked almost deathlike in its rigid 
pallor. 


138 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XV. 

If Constance had planned out a series of the most 
dramatic and effective situations to assist her in the 
awkward moment she had been dreading- so much, none 
of them could have possibly been more successful than 
this unrehearsed scene, which put her at once into a po- 
sition that not only demanded but obtained Philip 
Desmond’s sincere sympathy and interest. 

Kit’s preternatural calmness deserted her as she saw 
her cousin’s weakness. Tears started to her lovely 
eyes. She was in great distress. Sir Philip’s astonish- 
ment at seeing her was lost upon her. She could think 
of nothing but Constance, and her tender heart was 
full of remorse for having received her cousin so coldly. 

She became the Kit of old in this moment, natural, 
unrestrained, letting the whole beauty of her true 
woman’s nature have full vent. The evil influence 
wrought by Maurice’s cruelty was gone for the time. 

Philip saw and took heed of everything. He was 
touched by her distress, and his ready aid won him a 
word of thanks and a glance from her beautiful troubled 
eyes. 

Curbing his natural astonishment at coming so un- 
expectedly upon Miss Marlowe in a fainting condition 
under his kinswoman’s roof, and upon the “little red- 
haired witch ” whose face he had never been able to 
forget, Sir Philip proved himself a most skillful nurse 
and physician. 

He lifted Constance with no very great difficulty — for 


LITTLE Ktf. 


139 


he was very strong, and her weight was not great — 
from the ground to a couch, which he wheeled up to 
the window to get more air ; and he stood looking down 
at Kit as she knelt beside the couch, trying all in her 
power to restore consciousness to the pale, still face, 
with eyes that seemed as though drawn by magnetic 
power. 

How lovely the child was — something more beautiful 
than he had ever yet seen in all his varied life. In a 
dreamy sort of way he seemed to feel no very great 
surprise at meeting her again, even though the meeting 
had come so unexpectedly. 

It seemed to him now that she had always been in 
the gallery of his thoughts’ most cherished pictures. 
It was almost natural to be gazing down on her, to 
watch her graceful movements, and realize her exqui- 
site young individuality. 

He had rung for maids, and there was a flutter to and 
fro in the old room ; and after awhile Constance 
opened her eyes, staring in a dazed way at first, and 
then smiling faintly as she became fully conscious that 
it was Philip who was bending down to inquire how 
she was. 

She looked very pretty and delicate as she lay back 
on the pillows and closed her eyes again. 

She thought swiftly and strongly in that moment ; 
she was quick to see that fate had been kind to 
her. 

Philip’s concern and sympathy were legibly written 
on his face. There had been no time for questions, 
and Kit could have said nothing. 

She must act swiftly, immediately ; she must take 
Philip into her confidence and invent some story to ex- 
plain things. 

“ You are better,” Sir Philip said, as she opened her 


140 


LITTLE KIT. 


eyes again. “ I am so glad ; you looked very ill, and 
your cousin was so much alarmed.’' 

Constance looked around. 

“ Where is Kit ?” she inquired, her voice feeble and 
low. “ 1 — ” 

Sir Philip explained that the girl had run upstairs to 
see Lady Milborough, who had heard something had 
happened, and was a little anxious and nervous, es- 
pecially as she was not well enough to come down from 
her room. 

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Constance murmured ; “ I hope 
I have not made her ill. I don’t often faint ; I am 
usually so strong in my nerves, but to-day — ’’and then 
she paused effectively and half raised herself. “ Sir 
Philip,” she said, hurriedly, a tiny color creeping into 
her pale cheeks, “ I — I want to say a few words to you 
before Kit comes. I promised her I would keep silent 
about everything, but — but I feel I must explain my- 
self to you, of I am afraid to think what your opinion 
of me will be. I — ” 

“ Dear Miss Marlowe,” Philip said, simply and earn- 
estly, and speaking the truth, “ I assure you I am not 
in the least curious or anxious to know any secret. It 
has something to do with your little cousin’s being here 
with Lady Milborough, has it not ? Well, please do 
not worry yourself. I am sure no explanation is 
necessary.” 

“ Oh, but there is.” Constance held out her hand. 
“ If you would help me to that chair outside, I should 
feel better. You are so kind, Sir Philip,” she added, as 
his strong hand almost lifted her through the window. 
“ Now, please listen. I have only a few words to say 
in self-justification ; they must be said, for I — I cannot 
allow myself to seem, even for an instant, a person who 
prevaricates, or — ” She smiled as he interrupted her 


LITTLE KIT. 


141 


courteously, and then went on abruptly : “ You thought 
that child in a school in Paris. So did I. Kit is an 
almost impossible nature — wild, unrestrained, but good 
to the core. Life with my mother was always trying 
to her ; time after time she has threatened to run away 
and be independent of everybody. She loves me, I 
believe, in her own strange fashion, and yet, you see, 
she has given me the greatest anxiety and sorrow, 
almost causing me a serious illness here Constance 
rose, and taking his arm, moved slowly down the lawn, 
getting well out of earshot in case of Kit’s return. 

She spun out her false story glibly — words came to 
her easily. She related how she had arranged for Kit 
to go to Paris to school, travelling up to town to be put 
into the safe hands of the mistress of the school under 
the care of an old and faithful servant. How that, on 
arriving in London, they found the French governess 
was not there, and Kit had immediately declared her 
capability of making her way to Paris alone. How 
from that moment the wild scheme of cutting herself 
adrift from her relations seemed to have entered the 
girl’s head, and how by a series of the most clever de- 
vices she had presented herself at Lady Grace Leith’s 
house, passing herself off as a country girl whom she, 
Constance, had once recommended to Lady Grace as a 
maid, and so obtaining the situation. 

“ The rest I think you know,” Constance said, sighing, 
as she reached the end of her story. “ How Sibyl 
Leith, of course, saw that Kit was no ordinary servant, 
and how she obtained her this engagement with Lady 
Milborough.” 

Sir Philip listened in grave silence. 

“ It seems a daring bit of madness for the little 
creature to have undertaken,” he said, as she paused, 
and by the tone of his voice Constance knew he was 


142 


UTTLE KIT. 


not as yet convinced by her clever story. She an- 
swered him swiftly : 

“You don’t know Kit. She is capable of anything. 
The child has always been a source of gireat anxiety 
to me: 1 have never quite agreed With my mother over 
her education: Had 1 been allowed my way, Kit should 
have had a Very different childhood.” 

It Was impossible hot to be touched by the sound of 
regret and tenderness in Constance’s voice; It was 
absolutely genuine. 

u I know/* she Went on* “ it sounds an almost impos- 
sible story* yet it has been possible, and you can imag- 
ine my horrible anxiety, Sir Philip, when this morning 
I deceived from Paris, in answer to a letter I wrote to 
the head of the pension, and making inquiries as to her 
progress, a communication informing me my cousin 
had never made her appearance there at all. How she 
managed to send me the two letters I have received I 
have not yet been able to elicit from her, but I imagine 
her chum, Chris Hornton, has been a conspirator with 
her, and must have helped her in this. I can account 
for it in no other way.” 

Constance sank into a garden seat some little distance 
from the house, and sat looking up into the man’s in- 
terested face. Her hair was a little disheveled, and 
her dress crumpled, but she had never looked prettier, 
and her slight assumption of maternal anxiety over 
Kit sat very well upon her. 

Philip Desmond could not fail to be impressed by 
this air, though at the same time he was conscious of a 
distinct disappointment. 

There was an unmistakable atmosphere of deceit and 
intrigue in this account of Kit’s strange conduct which 
destroyed the pleasure her beautiful young personality 
had given him, and swept away much of the illusion 


LITTLE KIT. 


143 


that had arisen unconsciously about her. It was this 
thought that made him break in now with a question, 
put a little abruptly. 

“ But,” he said, quickly, “ I don’t quite understand 
the girl’s motive. Was she not happy ?” 

Constance smiled sadly and bent her head. 

“ My mother is very strict ; she has not much sym- 
pathy with young people,” she answered, in a gentle 
way that excused Kit while it did not condemn her 
mother. 

Sir Philip, remembering all Lady Sinclair had said 
about Mrs. Marlowe, at once gave Kit the full benefit 
of that excuse. 

“ It is a little romance in its way,” he said ; “fortu- 
nately it has ended well for Miss Kit. But how did you 
trace her here ?” 

“ Through Sibyl Leith.” Constance was delighted 
beyond measure at the easy way in which she had over- 
come what had appeared an insuperable difficulty. 
“ Her description of her protegee , all the pretty things 
she said of Kit. I don’t know what exactly led me to 
jump to the conclusion that my truant was here, but I 
did so jump, and on the strength of that conviction I 
rushed off from town, having got the address from 
Sibyl, and my haste and anxiety were well repaid, you 
see.” 

Constance passed her hand over her brow. She was 
feeling weak and faint again. The reaction was setting 
in after so much intense mental excitement. She was 
very pale, and Sir Philip insisted on leading her slowly 
back to the house. 

“ You are not strong, I fear. I hope you will allow 
yourself to be persuaded to remain here until to-mor- 
row. I am sure you ought to do so.” 

But Constance shook her head. 


144 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ Oh, my friends would be so alarmed ; and now that 
I know the child is safe,” and then she turned to him, 
“ I have given her my word I will tell no one anything 
of her escapade. She is to remain Miss Lowe, the name 
she has adopted, and is to pursue her career of inde- 
pendence unmolested. She is afraid lest Lady Mil- 
borough should know You will say nothing to her, 
Sir Philip. 1 know I may trust you not to speak of it, 
either to Kit or to any one.” 

“You may trust me,” he said, gravely. “My lips 
are sealed.” He put her gently into the chair she had 
occupied before. 

“ You are so kind,” Constance murmured, resting her 
head against the cushions. Sir Philip looked at her a 
moment. 

“ If you insist on returning to town to-night, Miss 
Marlowe, I must be equally determined, and return 
with you, to see that you arrive in safety. Oh, yes, 
indeed I must. I cannot let you travel alone. I will 
just have five minutes’ chat with my cousin. I ran 
down to-day because I heard she was not very well, 
and I am very much attached to her. Here comes 
your truant. I will leave you together. Poor child, 
she looks dreadfully worried about you.” 

He stood on one side to let Kit come through the 
window. Somehow all his disapproval melted away 
as he saw her. 

There was a dignity and subdued air about her that 
had little kinship with the tale of wild recklessness 
which he had just heard ; yet he did not doubt the 
story. It would, indeed, have been hard to doubt any- 
thing Constance said. 

He went upstairs, nevertheless, with his brows knit, 
and had a little chat with Lady Milborough ; she was 
not unnaturally curious and interested in the lady who 


LITTLE KIT. 


145 


had called to see Kate and who had suffered such a 
severe fainting fit. 

“ I think her visit has upset the child, though she 
says nothing. It is some one from her home, is it not, 
Philip ? I hope it is not a summons to take her away 
from me !” 

“ You like her, then ?” Sir Philip asked, feeling a high 
degree of pleasure in hearing his kinswoman speak thus. 

“ She is adorable !” Lady Milborough said, quickly. 
“ She has every quality I admire, and is full of human 
nature. I am only afraid she will be too quiet here, 
and she does not want more depression. She needs 
the enjoyment and excitement of life that are the fit- 
ting accompaniments of her age. She is altogether 
too subdued and thoughtful.” 

Sir Philip was astonished at this. Was the girl an 
enigma — subdued and thoughtful, when she had just 
carried through in so bold and dashing a manner a 
scheme for her own independence ? He held his 
tongue, however ; he had promised Constance to be 
silent and secret ; he would keep his word. 

Lady Milborough’s good word was a great creden- 
tial ; for she was a very shrewd woman, and one who 
rarely made any mistake in her judgment of people ; 
but despite this and despite his honest admiration of 
her beauty and keen sympathy for the unhappiness of 
her former life which Constance had hinted at, Philip 
could not quite reconcile the thought of the deception 
Kit was supposed to have practiced. 

“ Independence is a splendid thing ; but it is not to 
be won by trick and deceit !” he thought to himself. 
Then as he recalled Constance’s words about Chris 
Hornton’s share in the conspiracy and the posting of 
false letters, he felt a pain and a sense of stronger dis- 
approval than before. 


146 


LITTLE KIT. 


When he returned downstairs, he found Constance 
veiled and gloved, ready for him. 

Kit was standing a little apart. Sir Philip could not 
quite see her face, for she was in a shadow, but he 
went up to her and held out his hand. 

“Good-by for to-day,” he said, in his frank, pleasant 
voice. After all, he would not judge her just yet ; he 
would wait. “We shall meet often, you and I, and we 
must be good friends.” 

Kit said nothing ; she only let her little hand rest in 
his. His voice was like music in her ears after those 
few curt words Constance had spoken when they were 
alone. Kit, full of remorse for a wrong, poor child, 
she had never committed, would have stretched out 
her hands and made some atonement ; but Miss Mar- 
lowe drew back. 

“Oh, please don’t try to be hypocritical. You can’t 
undo what you have done, or unsay what you have 
said. You have behaved shamefully to me. Of course, 
we shall have to meet now and then, I suppose, and 
despite your great independence, you will no doubt 
find it useful to apply to me some time or other. But 
I shall never forget that you refused to grant me the 
first favor I ever asked you. No, 1 shall not forget, 
and I shall not forgive, either and then Constance 
had turned to a long mirror and had devoted her whole 
attention to arranging her toilet for her return journey. 

Kit at these words had let her hand drop to her side, 
and all her warmth froze into her former cold quiet- 
ness. She moved about the room, rearranging it, and 
then she had stood still as Sir Philip came in. 

The touch of his hand, the sound of his voice were 
suddenly beautiful to the poor, unhappy young being 
who was tasting the first bitterness of life’s cruelty and 
pain, and stood alone and defenseless in face of the 


Little kif. 


14 1 

struggle which to her saddened eyes stretched so 
wearily ahead of her. Philip Desmond struck a dif- 
ferent note in the monotony of misery. She could 
scarcely have said why, but she felt all at once that in 
this man there would be neither deceit, treachery nor 
disappointment. He was not handsome as Maurice 
had been, nor was his voice gentle as Constance’s could 
be. He was to her a middle-aged man, rather stern in 
expression, with no great personal attributes to charm 
or fascinate the senses. Yet Kit’s whole nature seemed 
to revive and respond to his mere touch, and a feeling 
of pleasure stole over her troubled mind as he spoke 
of friendship between them. 

It must have been some strange prescience that 
made her understand even in this first moment of 
meeting what a treasure a friend like Philip Desmond 
could be to her or any living being. 


148 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

It can easily be imagined that Constance returned 
to town in a very different frame of mind from that in 
which she had left it. She had ample chance for im- 
proving her position in Philip Desmond’s eyes, and 
she did not fail to take advantage of it. 

She talked very gently and very sweetly and rather 
sadly about Kit, as they travelled through the pretty 
country, and her whole manner was so charming that 
Philip’s admiration for her deepened and strengthened 
considerably. 

It was only when he was away from her, having 
escorted her to the door of the house where she was 
staying, and receiving a profusion of delicately ex- 
pressed thanks, that Desmond had the sort of feeling 
that there was something odd in the events of the 
afternoon just passed. 

He had no definite ideas on the subject, only he was 
a very practical man, and he had little sympathy, as a 
rule, with such a story as Constance had given him, 
and was inclined to view all confidences as a trifle con- 
temptible. 

He did not see, moreover, on thinking things over, 
why there should be any further mystery in the matter. 
Kit had, perhaps, not behaved wisely in a conventional 
sense, yet she had done nothing disgraceful. And now 
that she had asserted her independence and had found 
a home for herself, the truth as to her former proceed- 
ings might just as well be declared as not. In fact, to 


LITTLE KIT. 


149 


bis mind, he thought it was only right and fair to Kit 
herself that this should be done. 

The girl had evidently nothing in the world, besides 
her beauty, but her connection with an honorable 
name and an honorable family. No doubt, in her 
youth and ignorance, she set very little store by these ; 
but Constance was older and wiser, and should have 
known better. Of course, it w'as her kindness of heart 
that had led her to humor the girl’s whim, and given 
her promise that nothing should be said, and that the 
whole affair should rest where it was ; but Philip 
could not help regretting this concession on Con- 
stance’s part, and regardingit as altogether ill-judged. 

One day, sooner or later, Kit’s true status would be 
discovered. It was not likely that such beauty as hers 
could live long unnoticed, and then complications and 
misunderstandings might arise to a serious extent over 
what, if explained now, would, after all, only be what 
it was — the escapade of a headstrong and self-willed girl. 

No ; on the whole, Philip Desmond was not satisfied 
about the matter, and he wished sincerely that Con- 
stance had not appealed to his confidence, for then he 
would have explained all to Lady Milborough, and, in 
his clever hands, the thing would soon have been set- 
tled. As it was, he found himself in a false position, 
and it was extremely annoying to him. He must say 
nothing to his kinswoman, and he must appear to Kit 
to know nothing ; and to his honest, truth-loving nature 
this was well-nigh abhorrent. However, there was no 
help for it. He had given his word of honor, and, 
until Constance should release him, or Kit disclose her 
secret herself, he must abide by this. 

The days that followed were full of satisfaction and 
growing delight to Constance. She met Philip Des- 
mond constantly. 


150 


LITTLE Klf. 


She was plunged into the affairs of the wedding, 
driving about with Lady Grace and Sibyl, and taking 
far more interest in the costly trousseau than the little 
bride-elect herself, and was altogether in her element. 

Sibyl Leith was, in truth, a trifle troubled and un- 
easy. She was not in the least a girl who gave way 
easily to anxiety or trouble, but she could not fail to 
see that Maurice was not just what he had been. 

He was very, very sweet and kind, and never 
neglected any one of the attentions which, as her 
affianced husband, were not only his duty but his 
pleasure ; but something was wrong. 

Often, when they were walking or riding together, 
Sibyl would gaze tenderly and intently at her hand- 
some lover’s face, and her heart would contract sud- 
denly at the gloom and shadow resting on it. And 
then his manner was often short and constrained. She 
was endowed with a good deal of tact, however, and 
she never teased him with questions ; but she pondered 
over the matter in her mind, and a little gray cloud of 
sadness crept over the brilliancy of her happiness. 

She would never have thought of confiding her 
anxiety to her mother, or to Constance, or to any one 
of her other friends ; but it seemed to her, one day, to 
be not only natural, but a distinct pleasure, to unbur- 
den her mind to Philip Desmond. He was Maurice’s 
oldest and best friend, and the one person in the world 
who invited a confidence on the subject. 

Consequently, Sibyl spoke to Sir Philip. It was one 
afternoon about a week before her marriage. They 
were going down to see Lady Milborough, she and 
Philip, alone. 

Maurice was to have gone with her, but at the last 
moment he had sent a little penciled note saying he 
had a very bad headache, and would Sibyl forgive him 


LITTLE KIT. 


151 


if he stayed quietly in his rooms for the afternoon and 
rested awhile ? 

Sibyl’s whole heart yearned over him. If she could 
only have gone to him and remained with him to min- 
ister to his poor head ! That was her one thought. 
How little she guessed that when her letter, full of 
tender words, was delivered at Captain Montgomery’s 
chambers, that young man was stretched full length at 
his ease in a picturesque garden in the northern part of 
London, smoking and laughing, and chatting to the 
pretty owner of the garden, with whom he seemed to 
be, as he undoubtedly was, on terms of easy and affec- 
tionate familiarity. 

He had had a fight with himself over this visit to 
Lady Milborough’s, and common sense had conquered 
him. He was not in the mood to meet Kit ; he did not 
want to be tantalized by seeing before him the living 
realization of what he had lost. 

The girl had become something to him that no living 
thing had ever been before. He felt at times that he 
could not live his life without her ; that to have the 
knowledge of her beautiful young love whispered once 
in his ears, would be a happiness and treasure worth 
any sacrifice in the world. But though his passion for 
her grew so great, though her loss had worked so 
strange a change in him, Maurice could not over- 
come his nature. 

Self was his god. Even if he were free, marriage 
with a penniless girl would be nothing short of mad- 
ness and social destruction, to say nothing of discom- 
fort ; and he was well aware that Kit’s love now could 
only be won in an honorable and manly fashion. So 
he fought down his inclination and let things go on 
unchecked. His vanity could not fail to be gratified by 
Sibyl’s devotion. He did not love her, but he did not 


152 


LITTLE KIT. 


object to her love ; and he determined he would have 
a very pleasant life once he was master of herself and 
her fortune. 

In the meanwhile he put no curb on his reckless ill- 
humor and selfish gratifications. His acute disappoint- 
ment, his mortification over Kit, only served to develop 
his egoism still further. He lived only for himself, and 
he was not a man to sit down and suffer much discom- 
fort if there were any means possible to dispel it. 

His ordinary life, could it have been laid before 
Sibyl, would have sent the blood rushing from her 
cheeks and stopped the beating of her heart. But 
Maurice, however reckless his manner might be, was 
plentifully endowed with common sense. He did not 
intend that Sibyl should ever know more than he chose 
to tell her, and that would certainly be as little as 
possible. 

An afternoon spent as he was now spending it, in the 
society of an old ultra-bohemian friend, was a relief in 
a double sense. It helped him to forget Kit, and it 
came pleasantly easy after a series of hours spent in 
company with Sibyl, who, of course, was charming in 
the sense of being so very much in love with him, but 
who was by no means a brilliant conversationalist, and 
who, alas, too often provoked a sigh of impatient weari- 
ness from the man she had chosen as her companion, 
for life. 

No disturbing voice of conscience troubled Maurice 
in moments like these. He had dispensed with a con- 
science long ago, if, indeed, he had ever been given 
one. His motto was pleasure and enjoyment for self, 
and if these things did not come to him in a straight 
path — well, he had no objection to a crooked one. 
Loyalty, honor and gratitude to the girl whom he was 
about to marry never entered into his calculations, He 


LITTLE KIT. 


153 


considered he was very generous in renouncing a small 
part of his liberty for her sake. He did not think any 
woman could or should want more. 

Marriage would make no difference to his nature, and 
very little to his life, except that from Sibyl he would 
be able to obtain those luxuries and comforts which 
were so necessary to him. And so it was that, as Sibyl 
was whirled down into the country on this long-prem- 
ised visit to Lady Milborough, Maurice set himself to 
fry to forget her existence for a few hours ; and the 
regret that he should have felt in occasioning her what 
he knew would not only be disappointment but anxiety 
and pain into the bargain, had no place in his thoughts 
at all. 

Sibyl was silent at first during her journey down, and 
then she felt she must speak. 

“ I am afraid,” she said, trying to curb her quiver- 
ing lips and to keep the tears from her eyes — “ I am 
afraid, Sir Philip, that Maurice is not very strong.” 

Philip looked round at her keenly. He had not been 
altogether satisfied himself of late about Maurice — 
nothing definite, only a vague feeling that he was by 
no means worthy of the love of this pure, sweet girl. 
The pathetic sound of her voice pained him. 

“ My dear child, what an idea !” And he laughed 
heartily. “Why, barring that weakness in his leg, I 
should call Maurice a giant of strength — a constitution 
like a lion.” 

“And yet,” Sibyl said, looking at him with anxious, 
questioning eyes — “ and yet you know he suffers so 
much from his head. He has had three bad headaches 
this week. That does not look like giant strength, 
does it ?” 

Philip Desmond said “ No !” briefly, and he frowned 
suddenly. The uneasy consciousness of Maurice’s un- 


154 


LITTLE KIT. 


worthiness, which persisted in forcing itself upon him 
at odd times, came into his mind now. He felt his 
color rise in his cheeks, and for the first time a definite 
regret rose within him that this marriage should take 
place. 

“ Cruelty or neglect will go very hard with her,” he 
thought, as he looked at Sibyl’s gentle, saddened 
face. 

And then he set himself to work to cheer her, and 
he did it so effectually that he was soon rewarded by 
seeing a smile replace the tear and a look of relief 
chase away the anxiety. 

It was Sibyl’s first meeting with Kit since they had 
parted in town, and the two girls ran to greet each 
other with a pleasure that was as pretty as it was 
sincere. 

They were soon wandering off into the shady corners 
of the garden, while Philip sat chatting with Lady 
Milborough, and listening in a dreamy way to the last 
reports about Kit. 

He had seen her three times since that day he had 
come upon her unexpectedly ; and he was astonished 
himself at the interest with which he was watching her 
life, and the pleasure he derived from hearing her 
praises sung by Lady Milborough. 

The old lady had nothing but sweet words for the 
girl, and declared she had rarely been so happy in her 
life as she was now that she had Kit to cheer her and 
illumine her old age with her young, fresh beauty. 

“And she is beautiful, Philip,” Lady Milborough 
said, nodding her head. “ She is a princess in her own 
way. Ah, I suppose, one of these days the prince will 
be coming along, and then — ” 

Philip knit his brows suddenly ; the words jarred 
him somehow’. 


LITTLE KIT. 


155 


“ Has Lena Sinclair written to you lately?” he said, 
changing the subject abruptly. 

Lady Milborough answered him in the negative, and 
the conversation drifted on to more general grounds 
until the two girls came sauntering back. 

Philip sat and let his eyes rest on that slender, grace- 
ful figure, in its soft gown of some thin black material, 
that made such a good foil for the magnificent color- 
ing of the proud, lovely head. 

A princess indeed ! It seemed to him she grew 
more beautiful each time he saw her. 

Kit smiled as she met his eyes. She liked him so 
much. She already knew his character by heart, from 
hearing Lady Milborough talk of him. His qualities, 
his goodness, his splendid nature, were themes of 
which Lady Milborough never tired. And apart from 
this, Kit liked him for himself. He brought back some 
of her shattered illusions. There was an atmosphere 
of nobility and reliance about him which touched her 
instantly. 

She was glad when he came down, only she wished 
that she might be perfectly frank with him and tell 
him all about herself. It hurt her to remember that 
with him, as with Sibyl and Lady Milborough, she was 
playing a part. But her pride was great on this sub- 
ject. Since Constance had tacitly denied all kinship 
with her, she would not put out her hand toward it. 
And, after all, she was of very small account ; her place 
in the world would be always a humble one ; and 
though Sir Philip was so kind to her, that did not by 
any means signify that he would be sufficiently in- 
terested in her to know anything about her. 

Philip rose at her smile and went across to her, 
while Sibyl took his chair beside Lady Milborough. 

“Are you tired, or shall we haye a little walk?” 


156 


LITTLE KIT. 


Philip asked, as he let his eyes rest lingeringly on her 
face. 

“ I think I am never tired — that is, I used not to be,” 
Kit said, laughing softly. “ I could race anybody, any 
amount, and beat him. I always — ” She was going 
to say “ I always beat Chris,” but she stopped herself 
suddenly. 

“You have no hat and no sunshade. Are you not 
afraid of the sun ?” was Philip’s next question, as they 
moved slowly down the lawn. 

He was looking at her fair, white cheeks and throat, 
that showed so exquisitely above the loose, black frill 
of her gown. They were so marvelously fair they looked 
as though they were the leaf of some soft white flower. 

“ I love the sun !” Kit shook her head and then she 
laughed. “ I will tell you a secret, Sir Philip. I have 
always put my head as much as I could in the sun, 
because I thought the heat might draw out the red, 
and — ” 

“And?” 

“And instead of that it only makes it worse !” 

“And you do not like red hair ?” 

She gave another little laugh, but it was not so 
merry as the former. 

“ I don’t think I trouble about it very much,” she 
answered, and she gave a little, weary sigh. 

Philip had heard that sigh once or twice before, and 
he had noticed the subdued and thoughtful air which 
Lady Milborough had remarked upon to him so often 
in speaking of the girl. 

Certainly it accorded ill with her reputation as a 
burden and a wild, uncertain creature. She puzzled 
him in these moments, but she charmed him only the 
more. Her face, when she smiled and a mischievous 
look danced in her eyes, made him think of a lovely 


LITTLE KIT. 


15 ? 


child ; but with that pathetic little sigh in her voice 
and that sorrowful expression round her lips she was 
no longer a child ; she was a woman, and his heart 
thrilled as he realized this. 

“No, I do not think you need let it trouble you very 
much,” he said, softly. 

Kit did not see the admiration conveyed in this ; she 
was thinking deeply and sadly. 

Sibyl had given her some moments of pain. She 
understood why Maurice had feigned an excuse not to 
come, and indeed no one couid have fathomed the 
agony she had gone through at the thought of meeting 
him again. 

It was her pride that suffered, not her heart, at this 
thought, but it was her heart only that suffered as she 
conjured up the life that lay before Sibyl. If she might 
only stretch out her hands and save the girl from the 
sorrow in store for her. 

Philip broke the long silence. 

“You are happy here?” he asked, gently, his mind 
busy speculating as to the meaning of her deep 
thought. 

She looked round quickly. 

“ Oh, yes, yes !” she answered. “ Every one is so good 
to me. I am at home here.” 

“ My cousin is a sweet woman. You will grow to 
love her.” 

“ It will be an easy task.” Kit smiled ; she stopped 
to bury her face in some roses. “We talk of you so 
often — every day,” she said, trying to tear herself out 
of her troubled thoughts about Sibyl. “ Lady Mil- 
borough declares there is no one like you in the world.” 

Sir Philip laughed, almost shyly. 

“ I am almost sorry to hear that,” he said. “ I am 
afraid you will get too good an opinion of me.” 


158 


LITTLE KIT. 


She shook her head gently. 

“ No,” she said, quietly. “ I do not think so. Do not 
be afraid of that, Sir Philip.” 

His pulses quickened at the tone of her voice. 

“We are none of us faultless,” he said, hurriedly. 

“ Oh, you have your faults. I can remember them 
all. You are too independent,” counting on her small 
fingers. “You have a hasty temper. You will travel 
about the world, and you refuse to get a wife any- 
where. These are your bad faults, according to Lady 
Milborough.” 

Philip Desmond had grown suddenly hot at her 
words. He looked at her keenly. She was smiling 
again now. Her eyes were the eyes of a child — trans- 
lucent, bewitching in their innocence. 

“A wife !” The word sent a chill through his heart ; 
the meaning of that word had never come to him un- 
til this moment. A wife — a creature to belong all to 
himself — something young, fair, exquisitely* delicate 
and lovely — a being to cherish in his heart ; to cling 
to his strong hands, to transform the whole world to 
him. 

He could not speak ; he walked on mechanically, 
conscious of nothing but this bewildering thought that 
suddenly awakened a flood of joy — of pleasure, incom- 
prehensible and indescribable. 

Kit grew nervous at his silence. 

“ I— I hope you will forgive my nonsense, Sir Philip,” 
she said, hastily, shyly. “ I spoke without thinking. 

I ought not to have said this.” 

He turned at her voice. 

“Why not? We— we are friends are we not— you 
and I ?” 

Kit looked up at him ; something in his voice and 
manner touched her suddenly. It was strange, but it 


LITTLE KIT. 


159 


was also true, that there was a sound almost of en- 
treaty in his voice. 

“ I think you are very good to let me be your friend. 
You are so great and high in the world, and I — ” 

She broke off with a little laugh, and bent once again 
over a rosebush. Tears had blinded her eyes. She — 
what was she ? A poor, frail girl without home or kin, 
something to be tossed about on the wind of life and 
dashed under the cruel feet of such men as Maurice, 
to be trampled on and have the heart crushed out of 
her. 

Philip Desmond looked at her in silence. The power 
of her beauty had never been greater over him than at 
this moment ; she thrilled him through and through as 
she spoke. The half-broken tone of her last words was 
full of pathos. He caught the gleam of tears in her 
eyes as she lifted her head from the rosebush. 

His hands trembled in their strength ; love burst 
into being within his every fibre. The interest, the 
admiration, the charm he had felt, gave way before the 
new and vivid emotion that came upon him. 

By an effort that was almost pain he restrained his 
lips. The words that were so near them must not be 
spoken yet. He must wait awhile ; he must not jeopard- 
ize the future. 

She was so young — a child- worn an — she would not 
understand in this moment. He must not startle her ; 
he would woo her gently and tenderly ; he would lead 
her toward him softly. She should grow to know him, 
she should learn to cling to him, and then — 

He took one of her hands and bowed his head over 
it, kissing it reverently. 

“ You are my friend now and always, I hope,” was 
all he said ; and then they turned and walked back to 
the house, the light of his new-found joy illumining his 


160 


LITTLE KIT. 


dark, worn face with sudden youth and comeliness, and 
a shy color stealing- over Kit’s pale cheeks, as she re- 
membered the courtly grace and gentleness of the man 
beside her. 

The burden of her trouble seemed to have slipped a 
little in the last few moments. She forgot what she 
had suffered in remembering the pleasure Philip Des- 
mond’s words had given her. It was as though soft 
fairy-fingers had come to touch her wound with healing 
balm, to lift her bruised soul from out the dust of de- 
spair, to shed sunlight once again into her aching heart, 
this thought of friendship with Philip Desmond. The 
world lost its gray in this moment, and if it had not 
been for Sibyl’s face with the shadow on it, Kit could 
have forgotten that so base and bad a creature as 
Maurice Montgomery had ever existed in it. 


LITTLE KIT, 


161 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The day of Sibyl Leith’s wedding dawned hot and 
beautiful. Constance Marlowe, standing before her 
mirror in one of the many pretty, old fashioned rooms 
of Hulstead Manor, Sir George Leith’s country resi- 
dence, smiled contentedly at the sunshine and at her 
reflection. 

. She was in truth in high good humor ; things were 
going so well. There was at this moment absolutely 
nothing to worry her. 

News from The Limes told her her mother had an 
old friend staying with her, a woman whom Constance 
cordially detested, but who was very dear to Mrs. Mar- 
lowe. News also from her home brought the intelli- 
gence that Chris Hornton had started with his uncle 
on a yachting trip that was to last far into the autumn ; 
so she was safe from any attack there. 

Kit had undoubtedly kept utter silence, and Philip 
Desmond had as undoubtedly forgotten all about that 
day of the fainting fit, and the story she had so cleverly 
imposed upon him. If he had not forgotten it, he evi- 
dently did not consider it of any great importance, for 
he never by any chance made mention of it nor did 
Kit’s name ever enter into conversation. 

Constance, therefore, felt quite at ease, and was in- 
clined at times to ridicule herself for the intense anxiety 
she had caused herself about him before this time. 

Her hopes were very high. There had come of late 
a distinct change over Philip Desmond— a subtle, not 


162 


LITTLE KIT. 


very definite change, and one that to less observant 
eyes would perhaps never have been noticeable ; but 
Constance saw it, and construed it entirely to her own 
satisfaction. 

Sir Philip had grown very quiet and dreamy of late. 
There was a soft light in his keen eyes, and a smile of 
tenderness lingering about his well-cut mouth. 

Constance watched him eagerly, felt her heart thrill 
at the change that came over his face. She not only 
desired marriage with him for all the worldly advan- 
tages accruing to her from that marriage, she desired 
his love, his reverence, his devotion. The depths and 
beauties of his mind and heart had struck a feeble chord 
in her own. 

In these days Constance was less mean, less selfish, 
less cold and hard than she had ever been, although 
she was not generous or honest enough to let regret or 
remorse enter into her heart where Kit was concerned. 
In fact, she managed to forget Kit ; save when Sibyl 
Leith made mention of her, she had no occasion to re- 
member her, and it was only now and then that Sibyl 
spoke the girl’s name. 

The bridesmaids’ dresses had been chosen by Con- 
stance to suit her own beauty, of course, and she smiled 
contentedly as she pictured herself coming down the 
village church after the ceremony, on the arm of Sir 
Philip Desmond, who was to act as best man to Captain 
Montgomery. 

It would be a forerunner of things to come, and, as 
everybody knew, weddings were the best things in the 
world to foster other weddings. 

Constance was almost determined to settle her 
anxiety once and for all on this occasion, at least she 
would make good use of her opportunities. 

There were to be sundry festivities at Hulstead after 


LITTLE KIT. 


163 


the bride and bridegroom had departed, and Sir Philip 
would of course make one of the house-party, till the 
end of the week at least. 

So Constance dressed for the wedding in great good 
humor, and ran, a vision of loveliness in her costume 
of blue and cream, to kiss the bride and assist, if she 
might, at the important toilet. 

Wrapped up in her own dream, Constance had de- 
voted little thought of late to anything or anyone else ; 
but as she had sped down the corridor to Sibyl’s room, 
she came suddenly upon Maurice, who was leaning 
looking out of a window, in a preoccupied way. 

Constance would have passed on, for she never 
troubled to talk much to Maurice, but Captain Mont- 
gomery turned. 

“Not dressed yet?” she said, with a cold smile, 
glancing rapidly over his morning costume. 

“ I am not a woman ; I don’t spend hours at my 
glass !” Maurice answered, somewhat rudely, and in 
genuine bad temper. 

Constance frowned and bit her lip. She would have 
liked to have said something sharp in return, but tact 
and common sense held her silent. 

“ I am going to see if I can help Sibyl,” she said ; 
and she was just moving on, when a servant came upon 
them, bearing an open basket full of the most glorious 
roses, tlarge, fresh and dewy, that looked as if they 
were just cut. 

“ These are your gift, of course ?” Constance said, a 
touch of sarcasm in her voice, as, having informed the 
servant she was just going to Miss Leith’s room, she 
took the basket into her hands. She could not resist 
this sneer. She wanted him to know she understood 
him a little. 

Maurice said nothing ; he was looking at the railway 


164 


LITTLE KIT. 


label on the outside of the basket and at a card that 
lay on the top of the flowers. The writing- on the 
card was big, quaint and clear. He could read it 
easily. 

“With my remembrance, my love and my prayers — K.” 

His face flushed hotly. He could have seized the 
roses in his hands and crushed them to his lips. They 
seemed to bring the very presence of Kit with them — 
their fragrance and beauty, were not more sweet than 
hers, and they seemed to carry a message in their 
hearts that spoke the secret of hers. 

“They are not my gift,” he said, sullenly. 

Constance looked at him. Once again she was 
struck by the truth that there was something very 
wrong with Maurice. 

“ They are from Lady Milborough,” she observed. 
“ Sibyl will be glad to have them.” 

She was moving away when Maurice called her 
back. 

“ Do you ever see that little red-haired cousin of 
yours, the one who is in school at Paris ?” he asked her 
abruptly. She changed color and hesitated. 

“ Why do you ask ?” was her query. 

Maurice laughed shortly. 

“ Curiosity,” he answered, “ and something else. I 
want you to send her a message, that ’s all.” 

“A message !” Constance faced him in her astonish- 
ment, and almost let the roses fall from her hold. “A 
message ! But you don’t know her !” 

“ You have a bad memory, Miss Marlowe,” Captain 
Montgomery said, coolly ; “ but if you have forgotten 
the charity your cousin bestowed on me one day not 
so long ago, I am not so forgetful.” 

Constance said nothing at once. Her brows were 


LITTLE KIT. 


165 


drawn a little, and her mouth had an odd expres- 
sion. 

“ It is not often one meets with a man who remem- 
bers to be grateful as long as you do,” she said, when 
she spoke ; and a faint, a very faint suspicion of some- 
thing like the truth began to dawn on her mind all at 
once. “ Kit will be honored. Of course I will give 
her your message ; I shall be writing in a day or two. 
What do you wish me to say ?” 

Maurice paused. He felt he had gone too far, and 
yet such was the sullen recklessness within him that 
he went still farther. 

“ Tell her,” he said, as he lounged against the open 
window — “tell her that I am still grateful to her for 
all she did that day, and that the pleasant chat we had 
will never be quite forgotten by me.” He pushed himself 
on to his feet, and turned away. As he was about to 
stride down the passage he looked back at Constance. 
“ Tell her also,” he said, defiantly, indifferent to the 
expression on her face or to the probable consequences 
of his rash speech, “ that I have found out she was 
right. Life can be full of dreams : one or two good, 
perhaps, but all the rest bad.” 

He swung himself down the corridor, and was lost 
to sight ere Constance had half recovered from her 
supreme surprise. 

In an instant she had grasped the situation, and it 
seemed to make her heart stand still — the difference 
in Maurice, the strange, incomprehensible change she 
had seen in Kit. She understood both at once. 

She stood looking down the passage, for the mo- 
ment startled out of knowing what to do next. Then 
she turned as a door opene.d, and, with a constrained 
laugh, went forward to greet the bride as she appeared 
in the doorway. 


166 


LITTLE KIT. 


She laughed and chatted and seemed full of good 
spirits, so much so that Sibyl lost her nervousness for 
the moment and smiled in sympathy. 

But all the while Constance was thinking — thinking 
deeply, and feeling a thrill of intense satisfaction 
mingled with contempt. 

“ He is a fool !” she said to herself. And, indeed, 
Maurice had acted with a strange neglect of his usual 
prudence. Perhaps, if he could have known the after 
result of his recklessness — evil, selfish and heartless as 
he was — he would have hesitated before he had put so 
powerful a weapon into the hands of a woman who dis- 
liked him and hated her cousin. 


LITTLE KIT. 


167 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Lady Milborough sat nodding her head by the open 
window. The day had been very hot, sultry in fact, 
and dark clouds were gathering over the evening sky, 
threatening to break later on in a thunderous shower. 
Kit had an open book on her knee — she had ceased 
reading a few minutes ago when she saw Lady Mil- 
borough’s eyes close. She rested back in her low 
chair and sighed faintly. 

She felt very weary ; the heat of the day had tried 
her, and then she had done so much. She had risen 
with the actual dawn, and gone out into the silent 
gardens, culling her roses to carry a message on the 
morning that was to give Sibyl such happiness. A 
special messenger was obtained by taking Mason, the 
butler, into her confidence, to journey across the coun- 
try to Hulstead, so that the message of love and re- 
membrance should not fail to reach the girl-bride. 

Kit had touched no breakfast ; her heart was too 
full — full not of selfish regrets or sorrow, but of 
shadowing fears and dreads for the future of the gen- 
tle being to whose tender heart she owed so much. 
When the morning advanced she stole away to the 
village. The church was open. She went in and 
knelt down, and there alone in that sacred place she 
prayed with all the fervor of her young, pure faith 
that Sibyl might be spared the sorrow she feared, and 
Maurice might be changed and made more worthy of 
the wife he had won. 


168 


LITTLE KIT. 


She was very quiet all day, and Lady Milborough 
looked at her anxiously once or twice. 

“You have a headache, my dear,” she said in the 
afternoon. “ It is no use shaking your head. I know — 
I know — there is thunder in the air. It has been a 
beautiful day, but there is thunder all the same. I 
hope our little bride will not be overtaken by it. 
Philip tells me they have decided to cross over to Paris 
to-night.” 

And then the old lady talked on about the wedding 
and about Sibyl, of whom she was very fond, and of 
Maurice, whom she knew only slightly. 

“It must have been a pretty sight. Sibyl is no 
beauty, but she is a dear little lady, and Maurice is 
handsome enough for them both. You have not seen 
him, of course, Kit ?” The girl had once spoken of 
herself by her old nickname, and Lady Milborough 
always used it. “ Such a gallant young man — a real 
soldier and as brave as he looks. They begin well, 
truly. May they be very happy.” 

Kit echoed the wish from the bottom of her heart, 
but despite her prayers and her hopes, the fears would 
live, and she grew cold and sick as she heard Maurice 
praised, and remembered what he really was. 

“ If it had not been August and 1 had been a little 
stronger, I should have enjoyed this wedding,” Lady 
Milborough said, as they sat together in the pretty 
drawing-room ; and then she laughed. “Philip always 
declares I am the most dissipated old woman he has 
ever met !” 

Kit laughed at this. 

“ Sir Philip will tell you all about it,” she said. 

“Yes; but, of course, I must wait; there will be 
high jinks at Hulstead, dances and so forth, and Philip 
will have to stay for everything — not that he cares for 


LITTLE KIT. 


169 


dancing- ; but they will not let him escape in a hurry. 
Well, well, I can wait; and there is one thing so sure 
about Philip Desmond — one may be quite certain he 
will never disappoint one in the very least. The best 
man in the world, my dear, the very best.” 

And then Lady Milborough had taken up her knit- 
ting, and Kit had opened her book, the latest literary 
success of the day (Lady Milborough always kept her- 
self an courant with the times as far as she possibly 
could) and read steadily, her soft, pretty voice sound- 
ing musically on the still, hot air. 

And then the old lady had gradually succumbed to 
the soothing influences of the warmth and the gentle 
music of the girl’s voice, and her knitting had dropped 
from her hands, while her head rested back against the 
cushions, and her eyes closed. 

Kit sat very silent. She was not in the least sleepy, 
though she was very tired. Thoughts came and went 
quickly in her mind, somber thoughts, all of them — 
memories of moments that were one and all sad. 
There was so little that had been sunshine in her 
short life ; only the remembrance of her friendship 
with Chris, and the jaunts and pranks they had been 
capable of and had performed. A fleeting smile 
played unconsciously on her lips for a second as these 
past delights came before her mind’s eye ; but the 
smile did not linger, and the old grave air dwelt on 
her brow and in her expression. 

Constance was a source of sadness and regret to her. 
Up to now there had always been an element of illusion 
about Constance Marlowe to her young cousin. 

Her gentle beauty, her soft voice, her pretty pres- 
ence — Kit had worshiped them all. She had been 
wont to feel clumsy and hideous when Constance had 
been near, but her admiration was only the more sin- 


170 


LITTLE KIT. 


cere for this fact, and she had only wished wistfully 
that she could have been like Constance, that her skin 
might be as fair, and her red locks changed to the soft 
brown of Constance’s tresses. 

How far away all that girlish admiration and en- 
thusiasm seemed now to Kit, and yet in time it was only 
a few months. 

The illusion and dreams and poetry of years — albeit 
the short span of years that measured her life — all 
brushed away in so short a time. 

It was a horrible experience. Vaguely she wished 
she had never been given the nature she possessed. 
If she had only been born without a heart, with com- 
mon sense instead of poetry, and materialism instead 
of sympathy. 

Chris had been cleverer than she, after all. He had 
not understood all her moods, but he had known whom 
to trust and whom to shun ; he had known the differ- 
ence between good and evil, between the true and the 
false. 

She remembered now how often they had quarreled 
over Constance, how angry she had been at Chris’s 
refusal to like her and accept her cousin as an angel. 

“ I tell you I don’t like Constance Marlowe, and I 
don’t trust her one little bit. I think she is a cat, mean 
and selfish, and — and beastly. Oh, I know you will 
never believe me, but just you wait some day, and see 
if you don’t find out for yourself I am quite right !” 

That had been Chris’s invariable remark whenever 
the subject of Constance Marlowe was broached be- 
tween them ; and Kit sighed now as she recalled how 
futile had been her hot anger, so sincere in its truth 
and loyalty. 

Constance had proved the truth of Chris’s boyish 
shrewdness to a great extent. She had been a disap- 


LITTLE KIT. 


171 


pointment and a disillusionment in her way as great 
as that other. 

Her last bitter words, ringing with spite, never left 
Kit’s memory ; yet, with a weary sigh, the girl said to 
herself over and over again that she could not see how 
or why she had deserved them. 

She had only been reasonable in her answer to Con- 
stance’s most unreasonable demand, and the whole 
matter had been clothed with a mysterious anxiety 
which, in her awakened mental condition, Kit felt was 
connected more closely with Constance’s own desires 
and pleasures than with any thought of helping or 
pleasing her. 

Was the world all selfish and hard and bitter like 
this? Must she meet disappointment at every turn ? 

Her heart filled with sudden reproach as her eyes 
fell on Lady Milborough. All her goodness, coupled 
with that of Sibyl, rose to her mind. 

She must put a guard on herself, lest she should 
grow ungenerous and forgetful. She rose and went 
softly out of the open window. The heat was increas- 
ing, and the thunder was drawing near. 

She sighed and pushed back the heavy masses of 
her hair from her brow. To her this dark cloud, gath- 
ered gloomy and heavy on the summer sky, was an 
omen of evil to Sibyl. 

“ If only he will be good to her ! If only she may 
never know what I know !” 

That was her one thought. 

She moved softly to and fro on the grass, looking 
back now and then to the figure of the old lady asleep 
in her chair. She would return at once when the 
peaceful siesta was over. 

But Lady Milborough slept on soundly, and Kit was 
free to move about. 


m 


LITTLE KIT. 


She was standing looking across the sky beyond the 
trees, which presented a mixture of curious harmonies 
of color as the sun strove with the clouds, when a 
shadow fell across the grass, and turning, she gave a 
start, for Philip Desmond stood beside her. 

“ Have I startled you ?” he said quickly, as he noticed 
her quick flush, followed by what seemed to him sad- 
den pallor. “ I am sorry.” 

He was holding her little hand in his tenderly, and 
his eyes dwelt on her loveliness with an earnestness of 
which he was not wholly conscious. 

It seemed to him a year since he had seen her. His 
heart beat fast and nervously. It was to him as 
though each throb must proclaim the story that lived 
in his bosom. 

Kit left her hand lying unconsciously in his. 

She was very glad to see him. A moment before 
she had not imagined it possible she could be so glad 
about anything. 

But there was something about Philip that carried 
pleasure and comfort to her. 

He was so kind, so thoughtful, so full of illimitable 
sympathy, and he was her friend ! She reproached 
herself all at once that she should have let herself for- 
get this even for a moment. 

It was so good a thing to know she had this friend ! 
She who, now that Chris was lost to her and Sibyl cut 
away from her, had such need of a friend ! 

“You did startle me a little, just a little, Sir Philip,” 
she said, as she drew her hand away. “But — but, then, 
I never thought to see you to-day. Lady Milborough 
will be so glad, and so am I,” she added frankly, in- 
genuously, little knowing what sudden joy her words 
gave him. “ How did you come ? We imagined you 
at Hulstead, and — ” 


LITTLE KIT. 


173 


“ I have just come from Hulstead,” Philip answered 
gayly. 

It was like heaven to him to be here in this old gar- 
den, with this girl’s slender loveliness before him in 
its living actuality, not the visionary creation of his 
memory and his dreams. 

He drew a chair forward for her, and threw himself 
into another. He looked unusually smart and almost 
young in his gray frock-coat, with a white flower in 
the buttonhole. Kit seemed to realize all at once that 
this new friend of hers was by no means the old man 
she had considered him. 

The sudden happiness that had come into his heart 
was making itself known in his face. He had always 
been distinguished and soldierly ; now he was definite- 
ly handsome. 

The girl colored a little as this discovery came to 
her ; she felt shy with him all at once, but Philip did 
not notice it. 

“ I have just come from Hulstead ; and now I am 
going to make a confession to you, Miss Kit.” He, 
too, had picked up the old name Chris had given her 
long ago. “ At this present moment I am supposed to 
be making the best of my way back to that spot, and 
you see me here with absolutely no intention of doing 
anything of the sort.” 

Kit looked at him out of her shy, luminous eyes, that 
yet had that depth of sadness in them that always 
touched his heart so quickly. 

“You want to know how I managed this. Well, it 
was very easy. When the bride and bridegroom 

started I accompanied them to Junction to see 

them safely away in the train, and when they had 
been whirled out of sight, I suddenly felt a longing to 
get away from all the bustle and the confusion that are 


174 


LITTLE KIT. 


prevalent at the manor just now, naturally. Dances 
are not in my line, and a cozy chat with my dear old 
cousin in this quiet, peaceful garden is more suited to 
a quiet old fogy like me* So, without more thought, 
instead of taking a train back to Hulstead, 1 jumped 
into olie that would land me at the destination of my 
desire, and here I am !” 

Kit smiled faintly. The pleasure of seeing him had 
swept away for a moment the pain, the troubles, the 
forebodings that had hung about her all the day ; but 
they were coming back now. 

The thought of Sibyl had been so prominent with 
her, and the intelligence that the marriage was abso- 
lutely sealed and done, revived all the sorrowful dreads 
that her bitter experience taught her were only too 
well founded. 

“ Did — did she look happy ?” she asked Sir Philip, 
in a low voice. 

He turned at the sound. There was something in 
the tone so sad, so eager, so wistful. 

“ She had a look on her face as though the sun were 
in her heart,” he answered, gently. “ Dear little Sibyl ! 
Heaven grant the sun may never wholly set !” 

Kit put her hands before her face and broke into a 
sudden passion of tears. The strain on her nervous 
system, not only of to-day, but of days past, had been 
something terrible. 

She was, after all, so young — a mere child — and she 
had to play the part of a grown woman, a woman to 
whom the bitterness of life was known in all its power 
and fullness. 

She had met and faced the fight bravely ; but she 
was not made of iron or steel, and it was only natural, 
after all, that a limit should come to her endurance. 

Philip sat looking at her in an agony of sudden pain, 


LITTLE KIT. 


175 


as she rose and moved swiftly away down the garden 
till the trees hid her from his sight. 

He was touched to the quick by her tears. The 
sorrow he had read in her eyes had made itself mani- 
fest to him in other little ways. Of late he had grown 
to regard her as something that needed tender aid and 
comfort. It was this indefinite sorrow that drew out 
his sympathy and love as her beautiful youth drew 
out his heart in admiration. 

The image Constance had given him of the girl, the 
hoiden, the headstrong, reckless creature, whose sole 
employment was an indulgence in practical jokes and 
tomboy acts with a boyish companion, had long since 
been pushed into the background. It was not possible to 
Philip to reconcile such a picture with the one that he 
had always before his eyes — the gentle, graceful girl, 
soft-voiced, soft-mannered, lovely, her face eloquent 
with poetry, thought and sadness. That childhood was 
not quite dead within her, he knew quite well ; despite 
her sadness there would come a gleam of merriment, 
almost of mischief, into those most marvelous eyes ; 
but more than this never. And if Philip had not been 
so wrapped in the dreamy ecstasy that his love 
developed, he must, of a certainty, have set himself to 
think a little on the story Constance had told him so 
glibly, and have commenced to doubt the truth of it. 
But since that day when the knowledge of his heart 
revealed itself to him suddenly, Philip had forgotten 
everything but the fact that he loved her — that his 
love deepened and strengthened every day of his life. 
The past melted away. He lived in the present. 

Kit was to him the keynote of his existence, the 
queen of his dreams. He saw her in her soft, gentle, 
sad loveliness. He wanted nothing more. But all at 
once he was recalled from his dreams. Her sudden 


17ft 


LITTLE KIT. 


passion of tears alarmed and distressed him. He sat 
quietly thinking, and Constance’s words came back to 
him, and all the memory of the escapade that had led 
to Kit’s being where she now was and under his kins- 
woman’s roof. 

His brows contracted. His happiness faded for the 
moment. He felt as though-a cloud had passed over 
the sunshine and darkened it suddenly. He sat gaz- 
ing across the lawn, while the thunder gathered and 
murmured far away, and a stillness hung about the 
old garden, broken only by the twittering of the birds 
and the croak of a distant frog. The atmosphere was 
oppressive, the heat intense. 

Philip Desmond took his hat from his head and 
passed his hand over his brow. His heart was in a 
tumult. Sensations he had not experienced since boy- 
hood jostled themselves one against the other in his 
mind — fears, hopes, longings. 

He rose to his feet suddenly. A light came into his 
face. 

“ I will speak to her now. I will tell her the truth. 
Perhaps she will not understand. Yet — but it is better 
to speak, and I may give her comfort. I may touch 
this sorrow and help to smooth it away. At any rate, 
I will speak. Silence is torture. I must know her 
mind at once. I can wait no longer.” 


LITTLE KIT. 


177 


CHAPTER XIX. 

He found her sitting by the old moss-covered sun- 
dial. She was crouched on the step, her head, with its 
glorious coloring, bowed on her arms. She lifted her 
face suddenly as she heard his step. It was tear-stained 
and white and drawn, but it was to him more lovely 
than ever. 

He put out his hand and let it rest on her head. 
She did not shrink from his touch. 

“ Child,” he said tenderly, “ you are in trouble. I 
am your friend. You must let me help you.” 

Her lips quivered. She drew his hand suddenly 
from her head and pressed her hot lips upon it. He 
thrilled at her touch. 

“Tell me your sorrow, Kit. You can trust me, can 
you not ?” 

She looked up at him with eloquent eyes. 

“ Yes,” she said, but she said no more. 

Philip stood before her and drew her to her feet. 

“ I am not going to try and read your secrets or 
probe your heart. I only want to comfort you, little 
one, for — for you are very dear to me. I am afraid 
I shall never be able to tell you just how dear.” 

She looked at him in bewilderment at first ; then an 
emotion passed over her face, moving it as a wind 
ripples the bosom of a lake. 

There was something exquisite in the expression — 
joy, delight, happiness, all mingled with the tear- 
stains of sorrow. 


178 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ You — you care for me ?” she said. 

The words were hardly more than a whisper. 

Oh ! if he could only know what glorious warmth 
the mere thought had shed into her desolate young 
heart ! 

“ You care for me ?” she said. 

Her two hands were resting in his unconsciously, 
confidingly, clingingly, like the hands of a child. 

His hold tightened on them a little. 

“ I care for you,” he said, unsteadily. “ Ay, little 
Kit, I care for you more than I have ever cared for 
human creature in my life yet, or ever shall again.” 

She looked at him in silence, her great eyes full of 
wonderment, of growing joy, and then she gave a little 
cry and bent her head to kiss his hands again. 

“Oh, you are good — you are good !” she cried. “If 
you could only know how I have longed to be cared 
for. I have been alone all my life. I have only had 
Chris and Hepsie, and sometimes a dog, until I met 
Sibyl and Lady Milborough ; and now — now I have 
you ! ” 

She could say no more. She forgot her promise of 
silence in this moment of sudden gladness. She spoke 
openly of Chris. 

Loyalty was one of her strongest characteristics. 
Even in such a moment she did not forget Chris. 

The true meaning of Philip Desmond’s words did 
not quite come to her, even as the true meaning of 
Maurice’s false love had not come to her. 

The sorrow and bitterness she had felt when Mau- 
rice’s treachery reached her were not the sorrow and 
bitterness of a betrayed love. It was the crushing sor- 
row of disillusionment, of knowledge, of disappoint- 
ment, of destruction to faith, to beliefs that had been 
part of her nature itself. 


LITTLE KIT. 


179 


It was the tearing down of all that was beautiful and 
poetical ; it was the wrenching asunder of sympathy 
full of delicate fancy and harmony. 

Kit was, at heart, a child still in the knowledge of the 
great secret of life. Love in its fullest meaning had 
yet to come to her. 

Philip did not misunderstand her ; he read her eyes, 
not her words. 

He knew it was the cry of a hungry heart that rang 
out now, that she clung to him and to his love from 
sheer destitution and desolation ; but though he knew 
this, his love was not chilled, his hope undismayed. 

There was a whisper of future happiness in her 
childish abandon. He was content to know that she 
was glad to have his love. In time hers would come 
in return. He would wait content till that time. 

“Yes, little one, you have me to help you, to comfort 
you, to protect you.” He drew her a little closer to 
him. “ Some day you will tell me your sorrow, but 
you shall not tell me now, unless you wish to do so. 
You shall listen to me instead.” 

He paused a moment. 

Kit was silent ; a little color had come into her 
white cheeks ; her grave, earnest, truthful eyes were 
looking into his. 

She longed to open her heart to him ; but it must 
never be. Her lips were sealed ; she would be loyal 
to Constance, and Maurice was dear to him. How 
could she speak ? And yet it seemed wrong to hold 
the truth from him. 

She was troubled, and he read the trouble in her 
eyes. He bent his head and kissed her tenderly on 
the brow. 

“ I understand,” he said, gently. “ You would rather 
not speak now. I will ask no questions. This sorrow 


180 


LITTLE KIT. 


I will not try to share, but in the future, if there should 
be sorrow, I want you to bring it to me ; I want you to 
— to turn to me, Kit, for everything ; I want you to 
try and care for me a little, to — ” 

Her face had flushed like a rose at the touch of his 
lips ; she had drawn back involuntarily and her hands 
trembled. Philip held them more closely and smiled 
at her. 

“You do not understand. You did not know I was 
so selfish, Kit. You see, 1 am not easily content; I 
want more than your friendship, little one. I want 
you to give me something far bigger, that — that I want 
you to give me yourself, Kit. Yourself, to be my sun- 
shine and my joy, my treasure, my sweet little wife.” 

She stood trembling in every limb. The music of 
his words was almost divine in her ears ; the full pur- 
port of them was not quite comprehensible, but the 
chief melody was clear. He wanted her. He asked 
her to give him something to be his sunshine, his joy ! 

Her silence was more eloquent than any speech. 
With a murmur of deepest love, he took her slender 
form in his arms and held it close to his heart. 

“ Heaven grant that you may never regret ! Heaven 
grant that I may guard you and keep you from all sor- 
row, all danger, my heart, my love !” He kissed the 
wondrous hair, the white brow ; he carried her small 
hand to his lips. Tears were in his eyes — tears of ex- 
quisite happiness. 

He was in heaven as he stood there under the trees, 
holding the girl’s trembling form in his arms. A dis- 
tant rumble of thunder recalled him to earth. He 
smiled down into the girl’s shy face and beautiful, un- 
conscious eyes. 

“ Come, my little one, we must go in ; the storm is 
beginning. You are not afraid, Kit?” 


LITTLE KIT. 


181 


She smiled faintly. 

“ Never again,” she said quickly, “ now I have you !” 

With a sudden gesture she turned and kissed the 
spot where her head had rested against his heart. 

It was the action of a child, but it spoke of the 
woman who would grow from that child, and the man’s 
whole being uttered a prayer of gratitude for the hap- 
piness which the future would hold for him. 

******* 

The ball that was given at Hulstead Manor to cele- 
brate the marriage of its owner’s daughter was voted a 
great success by everybody except one person, and 
that person was Constance Marlowe. 

The wedding ceremony had gone off very well, and 
if Maurice had looked gloomy and cross, no one re- 
marked on it except Constance, who was considerably 
more interested in the bridegroom than she had ever 
thought it possible she could have been in anything 
concerning Maurice Montgomery. 

To the rest of the people any ill-humor on the part 
of Maurice was attributed, and very naturally, to nerv- 
ousness. Everybody knows that bridegrooms rarely 
.show to advantage. Maurice was no exception to the 
rule. 

Sibyl, full of blushes, looked prettier than she had 
ever done ; she shed no tears, for she was going from 
a happy home to one that was even happier. Love 
was her sun, and there was no cloud to mar its rays. 

Sir Philip had been very attentive to Constance 
Marlowe. He was in high, good spirits ; no one had 
ever seen Sir Philip so lively. 

Lady Sinclair, a vision of beauty in her Paris dress, 
declared she did not know him. 

“ What have you done to yourself, Philip ?” she cried, 
“ You look ten years younger. You must be in love !” 


182 


LITTLE KIT. 


Philip had made some laughing remark and escaped 
her, but his color had risen, and Constance, who was 
standing with Lady Sinclair, remarked this with a fast- 
beating heart, and yet with some impatience. 

“ If he would only speak ! Surely he must soon !” 
that was her thought. 

Lady Sinclair was delighted at the change in her 
sober old friend. 

“You have metamorphosed him, Constie,” she de- 
clared, in her most determined fashion. “Who could 
have imagined such a change in so short a time ? My 
dear, I congratulate you. Philip has always been an 
angel, now he is going to be an Adonis. I declare I am 
half in love with him myself !” 

Constance blushed, but, of course, she had to make 
some protest. 

“ Dear Lena, you really must not say these things. 
Sir Philip and I are good friends, nothing more ; and 
it must be some one else who — ” 

“ Rubbish !” was Lady Sinclair’s observation. “ I 
have always meant you and Philip to get married, and, 
of course, it is you. Who else can it be ?” 

That was what Constance said to herself, and the 
thought was distinctly comforting. She was greatly 
delighted at Lady Sinclair’s words, and, indeed, every- 
thing looked more than rose-colored to her eyes. 

She did not quite see why Sir Philip need have gone 
with the newly married couple to the junction ; but, 
after all, she was rather glad he had done so, for she 
wanted to rest and have a chat with Lena Sinclair, 
and she could do so with impunity when she knew 
Philip was not downstairs left alone with a dozen or 
so of pretty girls, all of whom were dangerous enough 
to be possible rivals. 

The afternoon wore away pleasantly enough. Lady 


LITTLE KIT. 


183 


Sinclair and Constance were congenial companions, 
though the former had really a good and womanly 
heart, an attribute lacking in Miss Marlowe’s beautiful 
physique altogether ; and then came dinner and the 
ball. Constance was the first to miss Sir Philip, and 
when by and by the truth leaked out and the news be- 
came common property that he had absolutely gone 
and would not return, she had difficulty in restraining 
her tears of ill-temper and disappointment. 

This action thoroughly upset her. She did not know 
how to understand it, or what to make of it. Lady 
Sinclair, too, was mystified, and for the first time a 
doubt as to the success of her matrimonial plan came 
to her mind. If Philip was so much in love with Con- 
stance, he certainly would not have gone away like 
this, with no excuse except a paltry business one, which 
did not deceive her. 

“ Is there another woman ?” she thought to herself ; 
and then she was full of compunction as she remem- 
bered all she had said to Constance, and the hopes she 
had encouraged. “ Oh, dear ! I do hope not. I shall 
feel I am a brute to have said so much ; and, after all, 
Philip has never declared himself yet. I can see by 
Constie’s manner that he has never led up to the sub- 
ject of marriage. Oh, dear !” And little Lady Sin- 
clair was genuinely distressed, though she comforted 
herself by reiterating there was no one else ; there 
could be no one else. How could there be any one 
else ? 

When the news came — the news written by Philip 
with his own hand — Lena Sinclair was absolutely 
confounded and honestly distressed. 

“ What shall I say to Constance ?” was her first 
thought, and then she grew angry. “ So like Philip ! 
How dare he go away and do anything so foolish ? It 


184 


LITTLE KIT. 


is a madness to marry a girl like that — a nonentity — a 
hideous little cat ! It is incomprehensible ! And how 
on earth did he happen to come across her ? I thought 
she was in school in Paris !” 

Sir Philip’s note had been concise and to the point. 
It was not very long, and ran : 

“Dear Lena : You have often enforced upon me the necessity 
of ending my days in the matrimonial state. I have now to an- 
nounce to you the fact that I am about to follow Montgomery’s 
good example, and that I contemplate immediate matrimony. 
You know of my betrothed wife by name, and I fancy you must 
have seen her too. She is called Katherine, and is cousin to 
your friend Constance Marlowe. 

“ I am sure you will wish your old friend’s ‘ cousin ’ every 
happiness. 

“Ever yours, Philip Desmond.” 

The letter was dated from Lady Milborough’s the 
night of Sibyl’s marriage. 

Lady Sinclair was stunned into inactivity for the 
moment. She felt that she must go to Constance ; but 
what to say, what to do ! She was really quite un- 
happy. While she debated, the door opened, 
and Constance came in — Constance, pale but smil- 
ing, with a hard, cold look in her eyes. She was 
faultlessly attired as ever. She laughed as she came in. 

“You have heard the news?” she said, lightly. 
“ Here is an astonishment.” 

Lady Sinclair looked at her in wonderment. 

“ You have heard it ? How ?” she asked. 

Constance smiled. 

“ Sir Philip wrote to me. As Katherine’s cousin, he 
considered it right, I suppose.” 

Lady Sinclair was silent. She was full of disappoint- 
ment and sympathy, but she saw she must express 
neither. 


LITTLE KIT. 


185 


“You see I was right, Lena,” Constance said, after a 
pause. “ There was some one else. I confess, how- 
ever, I did not dream for a moment that some one else 
was my cousin. Well,” shrugging her shoulders, 
“ these mistakes will occur. Fortunately there is no 
great harm done. Will you drive with me at five ? 
We will meet in the hall. Ta, ta !” 

Lady Sinclair gazed after Constance ; she was still 
sympathetic, but she was comforted. 

“ I don’t think she cares much,” she said. 

She would have altered her opinion could she have 
seen Constance at that moment. The rage that disfig- 
ured Miss Marlowe’s face was something terrible. She 
sat in an arm-chair, her chin in her hands, her eyes 
fixed on the letter Philip Desmond had written her as 
it lay open upon her knees. 

It was a terrible letter — terrible in its quiet contempt 
and unutterable disgust and scorn. As long as she 
lived Constance would never forget this letter. 


186 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Constance Marlowe sat staring at the letter on her 
knee. The cold, profoundly contemptuous words 
stung her as though they were so many sharp-edged 
weapons. 

She was not sensitive by nature ; she had been, and 
was, capable of doing many mean, unwomanly acts 
without any aftermath of conscientious scruples or 
remorse. Prevarications, tricks, deceits were as noth- 
ing to her when she had some object to attain. 

But she was a true disciple of the modern-day phil- 
osophy, and there was nothing more terrible or more 
annoying to her than the possibility of being “ found 
out” in any one of the small dishonors she was capable 
of performing. 

And this was just what had happened. After all 
her scheming, after all her cleverness, in the very zenith 
of what had seemed to her approaching success, that 
which she had feared in the beginning had come to 
pass, and come to pass in an even worse manner than 
she had dreamed of then. Philip Desmond wrote very 
clearly and to the point. He did not address her. The 
letter began abruptly : 

“ I am writing to inform you of the fact that I have this day 
asked your cousin, Katherine, to become my wife, and that she 
has given me the greatest happiness I can know in consenting 
to do so. Perhaps, after this statement, you will not be wholly 
unprepared for what I have to say next, which is, briefly, that 
the true story of your cousin’s career since she left your mother’s 


LITTLE KIT. 


187 


house is now known to me. I am at a loss to comprehend what 
reason could have induced you to give me so false an account of 
the matter. 

“ Many times of late the incongruity and absurdity of the 
story you related have forced themselves upon me, more especial- 
ly as the beauty and nobility of Katherine’s nature have been re- 
vealed to me; and had it not been for my promise to you, I 
should have spoken to her more than once on the subject; my 
lips, however, were sealed until to-night, when, as she has be- 
come henceforth the dearest object of my life, 1 felt it no disloyalty 
to you (since you had begged for my absolute silence simply to 
gratify her whim) to question her on the matter. 

“ The child’s simple record of all that has passed has given 
me the greatest pleasure and the deepest pain. Pleasure, in that 
I have found undoubted proof for my faith in her noble nature ; 
pain, that I am compelled to recognize not only deceit but down- 
right dishonor in a character which, up to now, has won my 
most sincere admiration and sympathy. 

“ I have sat thinking very quietly over all you said, and the 
more I think the more puzzled I am to account for your action. 
One truth, however, has forced itself upon me, and that is that 
though you are her kinswoman, and should therefore have natu- 
rally some affection for her, you are no true friend to Katherine, 
and are better out of her life. For all the loyalty and love she 
gives you, you answer with a wrong. She calls you her bene- 
factress; speaks of you gently and tenderly as having helped her 
when she needed help. She would never have opened her lips 
about you or about herself, but, as my betrothed wife, she has 
recognized my right to question and be answered. I have told 
her nothing. The clever fabrication with which you imposed on 
me shall remain our secret. 

“I can see well that Katherine is troubled about you, but I 
will ask no more questions. If she were to know of your unac- 
countable action, it would be to give her grief and deep regret. 
It is my desire to shield her from all sorrow, and to guard her 
pure young heart fresh and sweet as long as my life shall last. 
And so, remembering your falsehood, and knowing the danger 
that an unprincipled nature can do to a simpler and better one, 


188 


LITTLE KIT. 


I regret that I have no other alternative than to tell you, plainly 
and straightforwardly, that all connection must cease at once 
between my future wife and yourself. 

“ Outwardly, of course, you will seem to be friends; the 
world must be considered ; but more than this shall never be. I 
am writing by this post to your mother, to acquaint her with my 
engagement to her niece, and to inform her of our almost imme- 
diate marriage. 

“ In conclusion, let me advise you to restrain your fictional 
tendencies in discussing your friends and acquaintances, and re- 
member that from now everything that concerns Katherine is 
my affair, and will be dealt with by me accordingly. An insult to 
her will be avenged by me. You have hitherto known me only 
as a friend and a man of peace. It lies in your hands to maintain 
this latter order. 

“ Faithfully yours, Philip Desmond.” 

She had read the words over and over again. When 
her eyes had first fallen on his handwriting, a great 
excitement and delight had filled her. She had 
rushed upstairs to her own room with her treasure. 
The letter had reached Hulstead Manor by a late post, 
and had arrived when Constance had been engaged in 
a semi-flirtation with a young man who had fallen very 
much in love with her and worshiped her beauty. 
Constance’s vanity could not fail to be gratified by this 
devotion, but her thoughts were very busy, and she 
did nothing but conjecture and conjecture over Philip 
and his sudden departure till her head ached. The 
advent of the letter-bag only slightly aroused her, un- 
til she suddenly caught sight of Desmond’s well-known 
handwriting. With flushed cheeks and beating heart 
she ran up the stairs two steps at a time, and locked 
herself in her room. 

“ He has written ! It must be a proposal at last — at 
last !” was her dazed, exultant thought, and she held 
the letter unopened for a time in' her excitement. 


LITTLE KIT. 


189 


When at last she unfolded the paper, she was abso- 
lutely convinced that her scheming- was all ended and 
that the goal was won. 

As she read the first lines every drop of blood 
seemed to rush from her heart to her head ; she stag- 
gered, and had to clutch the bedpost to prevent herself 
from falling. 

She dragged herself to a chair, and sat in it while 
she read the letter through quietly, deliberately. Those 
who were envious of Constance Marlowe and her uni- 
versally admired beauty must have given her sudden 
pity if her face could have been revealed to them in 
this moment. It was old and lined all at once. A gray 
pallor spread over her rose-tinted cheeks ; her lips 
were set and white. For the first time in her life she 
suffered acutely, absolutely. She shrank from herself 
in this moment. So powerful was the condemnation 
and contempt conveyed in this letter that she seemed 
to be hideous in her own sight. Her wrong, her false- 
ness, rose clear before her. She almost acknowledged 
the justness of her punishment. 

But nature is a strong element. As the first horrible 
fear and agony passed, Constance became herself again 
— herself, only more bitter, more cruel, more hard. 
Thoughts that were terrible in their revengeful import 
crowded her mind. 

She was a very murderess in will. She sat, she 
knew not for how long, her arms folded across her 
breast, her hands cold as death. 

The letter fluttered and lay at her feet, and the 
sound of the laughing voices from outside floated in to 
mock at her misery. She cursed them under her 
breath, and then she awoke to real facts. She must 
go out among them all, and laugh and act as though 
nothing had happened. 


190 


LITTLE KIT. 


She rose to her feet and went to her glass very de- 
liberately ; she looked at herself. The color was com- 
ing back into her cheeks ; she smiled at her reflection. 
There was no change. The dent of the blow was 
buried in her heart ; it was her secret alone. 

She picked up the letter, unlocked her door, and 
went, as we have seen, to Lady Sinclair’s room. 

She was enduring mortification and disappointment 
almost too great to describe, but she showed none of it. 

She deceived Lady Sinclair, greatly to that kind- 
hearted little woman’s comfort, and she would have 
deceived everybody. She was a skilled actress. 

When she regained her own room, she sat down and 
stared at the letter. There was nothing definite in 
her head, nothing certain in her mind, except the 
eager, overwhelming desire — the desire for revenge. 

“ It will come ; I can wait,” she said, between her 
teeth. “ I will make him suffer. Oh, Heaven, I will 
make him suffer ! I will torture him till he shall pray 
for death, and yet he shall not die !” 

She was a madwoman in her rage and revengeful 
hate. The thought of Kit’s unconscious triumph over 
her made her blood rise to a fury. 

The statement of his love, of his devotion to this 
girl whom she allowed herself to patronize and 
despise alternately, was almost more than she could 
bear at the moment. She had to rise and walk to and 
fro to give vent to the feverish excitement in her 
frame ; she did not know herself in this mood ; she 
was transformed. 

When Lady Sinclair knocked at the door a little 
while later, however, and popped in her head, she 
found Constance at her writing-table, pen in hand. 

“ Will you ever forgive me, Lena ?” cried Miss Mar- 
lowe, looking round and laughing a little. “ I don’t 


LITTLE KIT. 


191 


think I shall drive, after all. I have a heap of letters 
to answer. Mamma expects a daily epistle, as yon 
know, and now 1 must send my congratulations. Have 
you written ?” 

Lady Sinclair said “ No.” She was pulling on her 
driving-gloves, and was apparently engrossed in the 
task, but her eyes were full of tender sympathy for her 
friend and her friend’s bravery. 

“ She does feel it, after all, poor girl !” she thought 
to herself. “ How plucky she is ! I should be just 
mad !” 

Out loud, she said: 

“ Oh, there is plenty of time ! I am a bad corre- 
spondent, as Philip knows, and, besides ” — she paused 
a moment — “ besides, I am not quite sure whether I 
shall send any congratulations ; I don’t feel congratu- 
latory, and I never could be a hypocrite. The whole 
thing has amazed me beyond words, and I only hope 
Philip won’t regret making a fool of himself at his 
time of life, that is all !” 

Constance laughed softly. 

“ Dear Lena, you are such a dear, funny creature ! 
Why, Sir Philip is quite a young man, comparatively 
speaking.” 

“Not when the ‘comparatively speaking’ means 
marriage with a stupid child of a schoolgirl. Why, 
that chit can’t be more than sixteen ; is she ?” 

“ Age makes very little difference when a man is in 
love, Lena.” 

Lady Sinclair was impatiently angry. 

“ In love ! It is too silly. How can Philip be in 
love with a red-headed schoolgirl ? Oh, it is all rub- 
bish !” 

Constance sighed a short, sharp sigh. She had set 
herself to play a part, but it was not an easy one. 


192 


LITTLE KIT. 


“Poor Sir Philip !” she said, and her voice sounded 
weary. “ I hope you will not let yourself say all this 
to him, Lena ? I am afraid he will not like it.” 

“ I dare say not. Fools never do care to be told of 
their folly,” Lady Sinclair answered dryly ; and then 
her wrath, engendered chiefly on Constance’s account, 
and a good deal on her own in having failed to arrange 
things as she desired, broke out. “ It ’s all absurd ! 
Philip ! Philip Desmond ! One of the most celebrated 
men of the day, so brilliant, so clever, so great, to go 
and throw himself away on a bit of a scrubby 
girl with red hair ! Please forgive me, Constance. I 
know she is your cousin, but I can’t help myself. I am 
furious. Of course, I wanted Philip to marry, but not 
marry like this. I wanted him to have a wife who 
would be an ornament and an honor to him ; and 
now — ” 

Constance was tapping the desk with her pen. Her 
friend’s anger and loyalty were a great salve to her 
smarting vanity ; still it irritated her. She much pre- 
ferred to be alone, at least just for the moment. 

“ Dear Lena,” she said, softly, and with a weary sigh, 
“don’t fret so much. After all, you will do no good, 

. and you can’t alter things. They — ” 

“Can’t I ?” inquired Lady Sinclair, defiantly. “ Well, 
I don’t know. I can write and give Philip the truth of 
my mind, at all events, and that will be something. I 
can point out to him the hideous mistake he is making. 
I can—” 

Constance rose hurriedly. 

“ No, no,” she said, eagerly, imperatively. “ Lena, this 
is impossible. You can do nothing — you must do noth- 
ing. Sir Philip is his own master, and must be the best 
judge of his own affairs. If regret follows, he has only 
himself to thank. For myself, I do not see why regret 


LITTLE KIT. 


193 


should come ; but that is for the future. Why should 
you interfere — why should you quarrel with one of 
your oldest and best friends ? I entreat you to let the 
matter rest — to accept the inevitable. It is wonderful 
how easily one can do these disagreeable things when 
one tries.” 

Lady Sinclair said nothing. She looked at the face 
before her. Constance wore her usual serene expres- 
sion, only a little sorrowful and very weary. There 
was an air of patient submission that went straight to 
Lady Sinclair’s impulsive, tender heart. 

“You are an dngel, Constie !” she said, bending for- 
ward to kiss the beautiful face ; and then, as she was 
running away, she looked back. “And I shall hate 
her — the little, red-haired cat !” she cried, and then she 
vanished. 

Constance laughed a hollow sort of laugh when she 
was alone. 

“ Lena can hate well, and she is powerful. Philip 
Desmond’s wife may have good reason to find that 
truth an unpleasant one. He may guard her as much 
as he likes ; he may wrap her purity and nobility about 
with cotton wool ; he is not omnipotent, and my time 
will come. It may not be to-day, or to-morrow, but it 
will come all the same. I can wait and I can work. I 
do not care if I wait till I am old and gray, if I can 
only see him suffer in the end — see him suffer through 
her !” 

She sat down to her writing again, and took up her 
pen. Her eyes fell vaguely on a diamond bangle she 
wore. It had been the bridegroom’s present to the 
bridesmaids. 

“ If I can see her kicked into the gutter, and thrust 
the sword of my revenge into his heart !” 

So ran the venom of her thoughts, and, as she sat, 


194 


LITTLE KIT. 


there came, she knew not how or why, suddenly into 
her mind a remembrance of Maurice Montgomery’s 
strange words and sullen, set face, 

She did not know why this should be ; it had no co* 
herence with her other thoughts ; but the memory 
came clear enough and it seemed to twine itself in 
with her anger and her hatred and her revengeful de- 
sire, till it became part and parcel of the whole. 

Afterward the mist in her mind cleared away on this 
point, and she understood the meaning of the confused 
intermingling of Maurice Montgomery with her plans 
for the future and her revenge. 


LITTLE KIT. 


195 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Almost before the world of Philip Desmond’s friends 
and acquaintances had grasped the first astonishing 
fact of his engagement came the news that his mar- 
riage was already accomplished. 

Within three weeks of Sibyl Montgomery’s marriage 
Kit had been transferred from her lowly state to one 
which placed her on a pinnacle of social grandeur and 
regard, and her feet were set on the beginning of a 
path that seemed to her glorious in the promise of 
perpetual sunshine, heavenly in its atmosphere of con- 
stant, tender love and protection. 

Philip Desmond had always been an enigma and a 
mystery to society by reason of his frequent and long 
isolations in foreign lands, and by his seeming devo- 
tion to bachelordom. His marriage was a source of ex- 
citement and gossip. 

Had it occurred in the middle or end of the London 
season, the gossip would have been tremendous ; but 
even as it was, no country house, no shooting-box or 
yachting party but embraced the news at first with in- 
credulity, then amazement, and altogether with en- 
joyment. 

Everyone liked Philip Desmond, although some 
feared him ; but with nearly everyone the distin- 
guished soldier was a prime favorite, and speculation 
was rife on the subject of the young wife he had 
chosen. 

At first there was a confusion of ideas by reason of 


196 


LITTLE KIT. 


Kit’s surname being the same as Constance’s, but in the 
announcement of the marriage, briefly put in the 
Morning Post, it was very soon seen that the fair Con- 
stance was not the heroine of the moment. 

Everyone was eager to get all the information possi- 
ble about the wedding ; but there was no one to inform 
them except Lady Milborough or Mrs. Marlowe, who 
appeared to have been the only two people at the cere- 
mony. 

There was no mention of bridesmaids or finery, the 
announcement merely stating that Katherine Mary, 
only daughter of the late George Marlowe, Esq., had 
been married by special license to Sir Philip Desmond, 
Bart., at the Chapel Royal Savoy, and that the newly 
married couple had gone to Ireland for their honey- 
moon. 

Everything had been done quietly and quickly. 
Philip neglected nothing that was necessary to his 
young wife’s dignity ; but he was determined to avoid 
all fuss and as much publicity as possible. 

He travelled down to The Limes himself, and coldly 
but courteously expressed his desire that Mrs. Marlowe 
should be present at the marriage ceremony, and go 
through the form of. giving her niece away. 

His visit, coming soon after his letter, left Mrs. Mar- 
lowe with nothing to say apart from the very sincere 
qualms of conscience that she had suffered about Kit, 
and, to do Mrs. Marlowe justice, she was sincere and 
had a conscience. Her narrow, vulgar mind was con- 
siderably impressed by the astounding fact that Kit 
was about to become so great a person. Titles were 
one of the few worldly things that found a resting- 
place in Mrs. Marlowe’s heart ; she had a weakness for 
them and she valued them very highly. 

She agreed at once to all Sir Philip proposed, and 


LITTLE KIT. 


197 


she won his unwilling respect by her cold demeanor 
toward Kit. 

“At least she is not a hypocrite,” he said to himself ; 
“ she does not like my darling, but she does not pre- 
tend to do so, which is honest if it is disagreeable.” 

An invitation, gently worded by Kit, had been 
written to Constance ; but Miss Marlowe had gone 
conveniently yachting with Lady Sinclair and a party, 
and so was spared the trouble of answering or at- 
tending. 

Philip had frowned when his little friend Lena had 
sent him two lines of curt, formal congratulation. He 
was hurt with her, and he felt, justly, that it was a poor 
return for his long and oft-tried friendship ; but he 
kept this to himself, and, in his happiness, managed to 
forget all anno)^ance. 

Sibyl would have rushed to be with Kit on the most 
important day of her life, had it been possible, but no 
one knew exactly where the bride and bridegroom 
were wandering ; all that could be done was for Philip 
to write to Captain Montgomery, and Kit to pen a few 
tender words to Sibyl, telling the wonderful news, and 
asking for her prayers and good wishes. 

Kit had been a wife of three days when these letters 
reached the Montgomerys. They had been on an ex- 
pedition up some of the Swiss mountains in company 
with a party of American tourists whom they had met 
en route, and with whom Maurice had fraternized 
warmly and quickly. Sibyl, with natural shyness and 
reserve, did not respond so easily to the friendly over- 
tures of these strangers as her husband, and deep in 
her heart there came a little pain when she saw how 
delighted Maurice was to quit their solitude a deux for 
the merry laughter and bustle of a party. 

She made excuses for him, of course — did she not 


198 


LITTLE KIT. 


love him utterly, absolutely ? But the pain did not go 
because of the excuses, and she grew a little more shy 
and reserved in consequence. It was nothing to Mau- 
rice whether his wife liked what he liked or did other- 
wise. He was tired of her company, and he preferred 
rather to be amused by others than to find some satis- 
faction for his ennui and bad temper in quarreling 
with her. He sighed impatiently at Sibyl’s devotion ; 
she would be a terrible nuisance, he said to himself, if 
she meant to continue as she had begun. Yet, though 
he was bored, he could help feeling a certain sense of 
pleasure in having this girl so deeply infatuated with 
him ; it pleased his all-powerful vanity, and anything 
that did that could not fail to be agreeable to him. 
The meeting with the Americans was a decided bit of 
good luck to Maurice, and he very soon managed to 
make the most of it. In a grudging sort of way he 
gave his little wife some admiration that was sincere. 
She was always well, never grew tired, always good- 
tempered ; her sunny nature shone about him in a way 
that should have made a better man of him. 

But though he recognized all this, Maurice did not 
fail to be aggrieved over Sibyl’s other attributes. 

She was not pretty, nor, compared with the Ameri- 
can women, was she even smart ; her charms lay in 
her nature and in a sweet expression on her gentle, 
comely face. Her clear, healthy complexion was her 
greatest beauty ; but Maurice had a picture in his 
mind of a pale, delicate skin set in an aureole of cop- 
per-red hair, and Sibyl’s coloring seemed almost vulgar 
when he compared her with Kit. 

Although she had been pained at his evident eager- 
ness to join the other party, Sibyl could not complain 
that Maurice neglected her. 

In fact, his temper, which had not been very pleasant 


LITTLE KIT. 


199 


before, distinctly improved, and he was so gay, so 
handsome, so happy, that Sibyl rejoiced and was happy, 
too. 

She had many lessons to learn in the hard task of 
mastering the many gradations of a man’s most vital 
part — his selfishness ; she would not be long, however, 
in grasping the rudiments of some, for Maurice was an 
apt tutor. 

The excursion up the mountains lasted many days. 
They had given no orders for their letters to be sent 
after them — in fact, this would have been almost an 
impossibility — so that when they reached the hotel 
from which they started Sibyl found a perfect budget 
of correspondence awaiting them. 

Womanlike, she rushed to the letters as to so many 
dear friends, and Maurice smiled with amusement at 
her eagerness. On the whole, he was pleased with 
Sibyl. He had indulged in a very good flirtation with 
one of the prettiest of the Americans during the excur- 
sion, and little Mrs. Montgomery had betrayed neither 
cognizance of nor annoyance at the fact, thereby con- 
siderably enhancing her value in her husband’s eyes 
and in the eyes of the rest of the party. 

Maurice would have been tremendously astonished 
if he could have known the admiration his late com- 
pagnons de voyage bestowed on Sibyl and the semi- 
contemptuous regard they had for his handsome self. 
This was the sort of a thing he would not have under- 
stood. He sauntered into the salle to read his letters. 

Sibyl, with tears in her eyes (tears seemed to lie just 
behind her eyes now, though why she could not tell), 
seized on her home letters. 

No one had forgotten her. There was a letter from 
everybody — her married sisters, her mother her father, 
some of the pensioners, a dozen well-liked friends, a 


200 


LITTLE KIT. 


few of the servants, and one in Kit’s quaint, unusual 
hand. 

She hastily opened her home correspondence first. 
It was like a breath of Hulstead to receive them, and 
she felt that the old air was somehow more sweet 
and dear than any other, and then she opened Kit’s. 

At the first word she gasped ; then she flew, in a 
wild state of excitement, to find her husband. 

“ Maurice ! Maurice !” she cried. “ Where are you ? 
I want you ! What do you think has happened ! 
What—” 

Maurice was not in the salle. 

She was dreadfully disappointed. She ran about 
seeking him everywhere, like a child. She must find 
him, there was such news to tell him — such astounding 
news — something so extraordinary — something so won- 
derful and yet so delightful. 

Maurice was outside in the gardens. He heard her 
coming, and he put the best curb possible on the fury 
of rage and passionate jealousy that had overwhelmed 
him. He was glad of the dusk to hide his face. 

Sibyl rushed upon him like a whirlwind. 

“Oh, here you are, darling ! I have been looking 
for you everywhere — everywhere ! I have got such 
news — such — ” 

“ So have I !” Maurice laughed a short laugh. “ I 
suppose it is the same. Desmond has written to 
me.” 

“ And I have heard from Kate. I assure you, 
Maurice, I am so amazed I hardly know whether I am 
on my head or on my heels. Philip going to marry my 
little Kit ! It is too wonderful ! What is to-day — the 
7th of September ? Why, they are married already! 
Oh, if I had only known ! If only I could have sent 
her one word of congratulation !” 


LITTLE KIT. 


201 


Maurice’s evil temper arose. He was not skilled in 
self-restraint. 

“Congratulations!” he sneered. “To whom? To 
Philip for marrying a housemaid, or to her for tying 
herself up with an old man for life ?” 

Sibyl shrank back from him, his voice was so bitter. 
She was silent, and the pleasure she had felt died out 
all at once. 

Maurice went on talking angrily, sneeringly. There 
was a sound in his voice she had never heard be- 
fore. 

“ Congratulations, indeed ! Philip is a fool to marry 
at his age, and to marry a woman utterly beneath him 
in station and — ” 

Sibyl broke in hurriedly : 

“ Oh, no, dear ! I am sure you are wrong. I don’t 
know for certain, of course, but I am sure — yes, I am 
sure Kate is not what you say. She is a lady in every 
thought and deed — a — ” 

Maurice shrank at the mere mention of Kit’s 
name. 

“A lady masquerading as a servant ! It is a funny 
mix-up altogether — deceit and heaven knoWs what !” 
He spoke very thickly, laughing that short, hard laugh 
again. “ Anyhow, I think it is a very regrettable 
business, and I don’t think Philip has treated me 
fairly.” 

To himself, under his breath, he muttered : 

“ Curse him ! Curse him ! She is mine ! She be- 
longs to me ! She loves me ! She loves me ! And he 
has taken her ! Curse him !” 

He was almost impotent in his rage. 

Sibyl was silent a moment, and then said : 

“ Why do you say that, dear ? How has Sir Philip 
treated you unfairly ?” 


202 


LITTLE KIT. 


“Oh, because he should have remembered me. He 
has no right to go and get married now at this time of 
his life, when all along I have been supposed to be his 
heir and — ” 

Sibyl was silent. This selfish, ungenerous speech 
hurt her to the quick. She knew how fond Philip had 
always been of Maurice, and how much he had done 
for the young man. 

It was incomprehensible to her that any one should 
or could have such mercenary, selfish thoughts. She 
felt she would rather Maurice had struck her a blow 
than have betrayed his real nature to her as he had 
done in this speech. But she loved him, and the power 
of that love was great enough to find an excuse even 
for such a fault as this. 

“ I am sorry you are vexed about it, darling,” she 
said in her soft, tender way. “ But ” — she hesitated, 
then gained courage — “but you — you do not need Sir 
Philip now. You have me, and — ” 

Maurice swung himself from her impatiently, an- 
grily. 

“You think I am fretting over the money,” he said 
with an inconsistency that Sibyl happily attributed to 
his vexation. “ Money ! There is more than mere 
money in the matter. It is a miserable thing ! Hor- 
rible ! Horrible !” 

He strode away saying this ; and Sibyl gathered her 
letters together and went indoors slowly. 

She was conscious of a dull, dead ache in her heart. 
It was early for such a pain to have a place there, 
but it was there all the same, and as she went 
upstairs wearily to her room the tears that had lain 
behind her eyes found a vent and rolled down her 
cheeks. 

The shadow Kit had prayed so earnestly might be 


little kit. 


m 


averted from this gentle creature’s path was creeping 
slowly but surely upon hen In a little while it would 
have spread over the whole of her young life’s sky and 
darkened the glory of her love. 

And while the shadow was drawing near to Sibyl 
Montgomery’s heart, the knowledge and reality of true, 
pure happiness was slowly making its way into Kit’s 
life. She had never known what the word “ happiness ” 
meant till now. Her heart was laden with gratitude, 
with love for this man who was so good, so great, in its 
tenderness and devotion. 

The story of a woman’s love was slowly being re- 
vealed to her. The childish trust, the gratitude she 
gave Philip Desmond were there still ; but something 
more was growing — a deeper, a more intense feeling — 
a longing to repay in some small measure the debt of 
his goodness to her. 

It was impossible for her to be with such a nature as 
Philip Desmond possessed without gauging its beauties 
to their uttermost depths. 

As though brought by invisible fairy fingers, her old 
illusions crept back into her heart. Her dreams 
floated once more in her mind. Life, the world, became 
again what they had been to her in the days when she 
had sat under the gooseberry bushes and ran races with 
Chris across the meadows. 

The same, yet even better, for now she had that 
which before had always been lacking — a heart that 
was absolutely hers ; a strong, tender hand to cling to ; ■ 
a love so great that tears of gratitude and joy would 
rise to her eyes as she realized it. 

“ If I could only tell you really, really, really how 
much you have given me !” she said, one day, to him, 
as they stood in the grounds of the old Irish house that 
had been Kit’s first home in her new life. 


204 


LITTLE 1CIT* 


Her arm Was in his, and he was holding her little 
hand between his own two strong ones. 

“ Do you think I do not know, little one ?” Philip an- 
swered, softly. “ But the debt is equal, for you have 
given me even more than I have given you — my be- 
loved, my cherished wife !” 

He kissed her, and they turned indoors. 

“ It is strange the Montgomerys do not write. I ex- 
pected to have heard from Maurice certainly before 
now,” he said, as they went. 

“ Perhaps they have not had our letters yet,” Kit 
answered. 

A slight cloud passed over her mind as Maurice was 
mentioned. His memory was the one shadowed spot 
in her heart. She had learned to forget his treachery, 
and to regard him with contempt and horror. Many 
a time she had longed to open up that sealed book and 
tell her husband all that had happened, but she hesi- 
tated. 

First, for Sibyl’s sake, her woman’s delicate sym- 
pathy forbade that she should let even Philip know the 
truth of that girl’s wasted love ; and then she knew 
that were she to speak of Maurice’s infamy, she would 
give Philip a terrible blow and a great unhapppi- 
ness. 

This she could not endure to do. It was her one 
prayer that she should minister to him always for his 
happiness, and so in her simple love she deemed that 
silence was best. 

The past was past and done with. Maurice would 
not need a word to tell him this. Her lip sneered with 
contempt as she thought of his probable fear and anx- 
iety lest she should speak. 

He would soon understand that her silence was elo- 
quent with all the scorn of a woman who knew him at 


LITTLE KIT. 


205 


his true worth ; and so long as Sibyl was allowed to 
live in happy ignorance, and Philip’s great heart was 
not distressed by the knowledge of Maurice’s falseness, 
Kit determined her silence should last. 

If she had only spoken, what misery she would have 
averted f But, poor child, she acted for the best and 
purest reasons, and the future was veiled from her 
eyes. 


206 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XXIt. 

November, for once, discarded its man tie of fog. 
The weather was balmy and sunny, with a touch of 
summer in the sunshine. London was full with a 
passing crowd, who made the metropolis their resting- 
place for a fortnight or so before going south to escape 
the frosts and snows of Christmas. 

Bond Street had almost the air of the season. Car- 
riages rolled down its narrow length, and smart-coated 
and gowned persons promenaded before the shops. 

A victoria, drawn by a pair of handsome bays, was 
standing in front of a book-shop, and just as a tall, 
rather gawkish youth, very much bronzed, and with a 
sea look about him, was sauntering past this shop, a 
girl in a black velvet hat and a mass of furs about her 
came through the doorway and stepped into the 
carriage. 

She drew the rug about her and put her books on 
the seat, and was just giving the footman her next 
order, when her eyes fell upon this boyish figure. 

In an instant she had jumped from her carriage, 
scattering the rug and the footman almost in her 
haste, and she had sped after the loosely-built figure 
in the rough blue serge. 

“Chris! Chris! Dear Chris !” 

Chris Hornton turned and stared in amazement. 

“ Kit r 

He could say no more for the moment. 

“ Dear old Chris ! Oh, if you knew how glad I am 


LITTLE KIT 


207 


to see you ! Where are you ? What are you doing ? 
Are you long in London ? When did you come back ? 
Oh, I have about a thousand questions to ask, and a 
thousand things to say ! Come along ; you are doing 
nothing ; get in and drive home with me ! You must ; 
yes, you must ! Philip will be so glad to see you !” 

Chris, bewildered, amazed, startled, could do nothing 
but stammer and grow very hot in the face. He 
was shy with his old playmate. 

Was this Kit, the girl whom he had romped with, 
and teased and quarreled with, and loved with all the 
might of his boyish heart? Was it not rather some 
wonderful fairy princess who had fallen from the 
clouds, and who stood before him smiling in her be- 
witching, imperious beauty, regal almost in her splen- 
did furs and the glimmer of jewels at her throat ? 

Chris hung back stammeringly as she drew him to 
the dainty victoria. 

“ I am not fit. You are so grand, so — so smart, so — ” 

Kit stamped her little foot. 

“ Get in !” she said imperiously ; but her eyes were 
full of glorious delight and her lips were smiling. 

She pushed him into the carriage, and got in herself, 
throwing the fur rug about them. 

“ We will drive in the park first, and then go home 
to tea. Philip will be back then. He is longing to 
know you, Chris. Oh, what a lucky thing I happened 
see you ! How dare you be in London and not let me 
know ?” 

She broke off to direct the footman, and as she 
turned her lovely face, eloquent with gladness, toward 
Chris, she encountered two pairs of eyes fixed on her, 
one with honest admiration in their depths and the 
other with some strange, subtle expression which 
troubled her in an indefinable way. 


208 


LITTLE KIT. 


She bent her head with her inimitable grace, which 
was something few women possessed, and for an in- 
stant her face grew cold in its loveliness as she re- 
turned the greeting of Maurice Montgomery and his 
companion, who was a well-known man of society. 

The next moment, however, she was rolling swiftly 
toward the park, and her delight at having found her 
old chum so unexpectedly shone forth on her face. 

She attracted all eyes as she drove along. Few 
people knew her as yet by sight ; but her beauty was 
so magnetic, so vivid, that it would not be long before 
Sir Philip Desmond’s young wife would take a high 
place in the admiring hearts of the London public. 

Maurice Montgomery’s brow was dark and his lips 
set as he followed the carriage with his eyes. He 
could see her delicate face turned toward Chris. The 
mass of her copper-red hair gleamed like ruddy gold 
beneath her dark hat and against her furs. 

She was infinitely more beautiful to him now, when 
he saw her in all her splendor and riches, than she had 
been in those summer nights. 

A man like Maurice was keenly sensible of the ad- 
vantages of wealth. He had admired Kit for her ex- 
quisite beauty, and his admiration had been sincere ; 
but it was fast growing into a passion now when he be- 
held her in a more costly setting, with all the luxurious 
surroundings, all the dignity and state of a grand lady. 
He saw her so constantly driving or riding. She was 
not often alone. Once only he had met her walking in 
the park with her maid. He had made half a stop, and 
his face was full of eagerness. But she had looked him 
straight in the eyes, had given him a cold bow, and 
walked swiftly passed him. 

Since that day Maurice had only one thought in his 
mind. It was Kit. She filled his brain night and day. 


LITTLE KIT. 


209 


He was devoured by his passion for her. Her coldness 
had put the final match to the flame of his most self- 
ish and wicked love. He did not know what he 
wanted exactly. He longed with an insensate long- 
ing to punish Philip for robbing him of what he had 
in his arrogance called his own. He longed to punish 
her for her coldness. He longed to claim her as the 
woman of his love before all the world. 

Her absolute dignity, her determined refusal to per- 
mit the past to come into the present, all this mad- 
dened him almost beyond endurance. Since the 
day they had met in Sibyl’s house and had been 
duly presented to each other as strangers, Maurice had 
sworn to himself that before very long he would break 
this silence Kit preserved so proudly. He would 
force her to speak to him. He would shake her 
pride and her coldness, and make her confess to 
him the love he knew she still held for him. 

Let her but do this, and he would be almost con- 
tent. It was her indifference, her contempt, her ap- 
parent happiness, that made his punishment. As if 
she could love Philip Desmond — she who had loved 
him ! That was the burden of his egotistical, impa- 
tient, selfish heart. He clenched his hands and set his 
teeth. It was not pleasant to him to wait, but he would 
school himself to do it when he had so much in view. 

It was impossible for her to war with him forever. 
Her friendship with Sibyl made an intimacy between 
the two houses, and the day must come when by some 
chance, some mistake, she would forget her role and 
let him see her as she really was, for that Kit was play- 
ing a role Maurice never doubted for an instant. He 
knew woman, or thought he did. He attributed her 
present attitude to the base desire of a slighted woman 
to punish him for the past, and he imagined in his own 


210 


LITTLE KIT. 


mean, narrow-minded way that Kit gloried in her 
proud position as much to aid her in this punishment 
as anything else ; and yet, though he had not the gift 
to understand her, he felt somehow that she was not 
like other women he had known. Her conduct all 
through had taught him this, and against his own na- 
ture and the knowledge his life had given him he was 
forced to own that he wronged her by imagining her 
capable of vulgar ostentation and of finding a triumph 
in display. 

No ; all the dignity, the pride and the grace of her 
smallest action he allowed to be natural. It was her 
coldness and her contempt for himself that were unreal 
to him. 

He could have staked his existence that Kit was 
madly in love with him, and a most unhappy woman 
in consequence, despite all her seeming brilliancy and 
content. 

It was the one pleasant thought in the whole matter, 
and he dwelt upon it until it grew to be a certainty 
with him. 

He was furiously jealous of her friendship with any 
one — man, woman or child ; and there were moments, 
when he caught sight of Philip and her together, when 
his heart would turn cold and sick, and he had to stand 
and clench his hands till the madness of his jealous an- 
ger had gone. 

He had never really cared for Philip ; now he hated 
him. 

He hated him first and foremost for his possession 
of this girl — this exquisite, bewitching creature with 
her unfathomable eyes and ruddy splendor of hair. He 
hated him for his position in the world, for his popu- 
larity and for the change that had come upon him 
since his marriage. 


LITTLE KIT; 


211 


It was not to be denied, happiness had made Philip 
Desmond a younger and a handsomer man. He made 
a good companion to his young wife, with his well-cut 
face and distinguished bearing. 

To Kit he was everything that was noble in manhood; 
Her pride in him grew every day. 

She felt her heart thrill almost every hour as she 
realized what his love for her meant. 

She seemed sometimes as though she were an en- 
chanted princess living in a fairy story. She said as 
much to Chris as they drove through the park and 
talked and talked as though they never would be 
able to talk enough. 

Chris lost his shyness as they bowled along. He was 
just the same ; a little taller and more lanky, and his 
voice was a little deeper, perhaps, but otherwise he 
was just the same dear Chris as of old. 

Kit tucked her hand through his arm. 

“ This is better than the gooseberry bushes, eh, 
Chris ?” she laughed. 

Chris said, “ Rather,” in his most hearty fashion ; and 
then Kit had to go all over her story once again, and 
had to bear with his reproaches. 

“Not to write to me, not to tell me a word ! Oh, Kit, 
it was beastly of you ! How could you do it? But I 
know and Chris’s sun-browned face was eloquent 
with disgust; “it was all that cat, Constance! Of 
course, she didn’t want any one to know where you 
were, when she had been clever enough to pack you 
off out of sight as a housemaid, and then she ups and 
tells me a pack of lies. Ugh ! How I do hate your 
crooked folk ! As if I believed you had gone to Paris ! 
I knew Miss Constance was up to her tricks ! Oh, I 
wanted to shake her inside out, I can tell you !” 

“ Dear Chris !” Kit squeezed his arm ; she knew the 


212 


LITTLE KIT. 


loyalty and love in his heart. “ But you forgive me, 
Chris, don’t you? Oh, yes, you must forgive me, 
dear !” 

“ I will forgive you,” Chris said, gravely, “ on one con- 
dition, and that is that you have nothing to do with 
Constance Marlowe. Oh, I know her ! She will come 
crawding about you, now you are a grand lady, and it 
will be ‘ dear Kit ’ this, and ‘ dear Kit’ that ; but don’t 
you trust her.” The boy took Kit’s little hand in his 
two roughened ones. “ Kit, don’t you trust her, she 
will do you harm ; she can’t help herself ; it is her na- 
ture. She’s a cat, and she will try and scratch you 
badly, if she can only get the chance.” 

“ Dear Chris, you forget now I am not as I was. I 
am no longer alone in the world.” 

She reared her head proudly as she said this. 

Chris looked at her sadly. 

“ No ; I know all that, and I know I can do very lit- 
tle for you now. You’ve got somebody a great deal 
better ; but, all the same, Kit — and don’t think me a 
fool for saying it — you might want a friend in the fu- 
ture, and you know, if you do, you have only got to 
say to me, ‘ Chris, I want you,’ and if I am at the other 
side of the world, I will come. I’m not much of a chap, 
I know, and as for ever doing anything at the bar — 
well, I guess, as the Yankees say, I shan’t electrify my 
country, but I can be a good friend ; and if you want 
me, just you put me to the test, that ’s all.” 

And as Kit murmured some grateful, tender words, 
with tears very near her eyes, the carriage stopped at 
the door of her home, and Philip was there to meet 
her. 

“ It’s Chris, my dear, faithful Chris,” she said, as the 
tall, boyish form lumbered out of the carriage. “I 
know you will be glad to see him.” 


LITTLE KIT. 


213 


Ay, that I am,” Philip said, grasping Chris’s hand 
warmly, “ for I know him so well, and I have such a lot 
of gratitude to give him.” 

And then, between them, they overruled all the boy’s 
objections. His luggage was sent for, a telegram dis- 
patched to his mother, telling her not to expect him 
for some days, and Chris found himself the honored 
guest of Sir Philip and Lady Desmond. 

How little Kit thought, as she put herself into her 
maid’s hands to dress for dinner, that his chance meet- 
ing with her girlish chum and comrade would develop 
into a future alliance of comfort and strength and pro- 
tection, such as she could never have even dreamed 
possible or probable ! 

She had been touched most deeply by Chris’s words 
and by his devoted friendship ; the day would come 
when she would have occasion to test his words to the 
uttermost and derive the greatest consolation from 
their firm loyalty and truth. 


214 


LITTLE KIT* 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The night of Chris’s arrival at the Desmonds’ his 
host and hostess were reluctantly compelled to leave 
him. 

“ It is a big, important dinner, very important in- 
deed,” Kit declared, as she rustled into Chris’s rooms 
(he had been allotted a small smoking den all to him- 
self, as well as a bed and dressing-rooms) to see he had 
everything to his comfort. “You know, Chris,” she 
said, perching herself on a, corner of the table in her old- 
fashioned style, and looking little more than a child in 
her delicate frock of white crape and a string of pearls 
around her throat, “ you know, Chris, they are persuad- 
ing Philip to stand for some political division in town, 
and he has almost consented to do so. I shall be so 
proud of him if he gets into Parliament !” 

“ I think you ought to be very proud of him now ; 
he’s a brick !” blurted out Chris, looking more red and 
more boyish and more ungainly than before in his even- 
ing clothes, with a gigantic white tie all on one side. 

He was looking, with an admiration too deep for 
words, at the exquisite picture of womanhood before 
him. He was no longer afraid of Kit in her new guise 
— he was only amazed. 

“Yes, isn’t he?” Kit cried, enchanted by the cordial 
liking between her first chum and her beloved hus- 
band. “ Oh, Chris, he is such an angel ! He has done 
so much for me — no one, no one,” with serious empha- 
sis, “ but myself will ever know what he has done !” 


LITTLE KIT. 


215 


Her face grew grave for an instant ; her thoughts 
had flown to that brief, dark period from which 
Philip’s love had drawn her so completely. Even re- 
membrance, which had been so keen, was beginning to 
fade, soothed by his marvelous touch. 

She could pass Maurice coldly, quietly, with none of 
the revived horror and trouble that had come at first 
when she had seen him. 

Her thoughts slipped away quickly. That was one 
of the benefits of her great happiness. Trouble could 
not live in its atmosphere. 

She gave a little laugh as she caught sight of Chris’s 
most marvelous tie. 

“ Oh, my dear, come here !” she cried lightly. “ Let 
me settle this bow. I want Sibyl to fall in love with 
you to-night.” 

For Kit had sent round a little note to Sybil, and 
asked her to be very sweet, and to come and eat some 
dinner with Chris, as she and Philip were going out. 

She knew Sibyl would be alone, for early in the day 
Mrs. Montgomery had run in and had said something 
about a solitary evening, as her husband was going to 
dine with some fellow-officers at ‘his club (Maurice 
managed to dine about three nights a week at his club) ; 
so on the strength of this Kit had sent Sibyl a line, and 
begged her to come and make friends with Chris, and, 
of course, Sibyl was only too glad to do anything that 
would please Kit. 

“ I want her to fall in love with you,” the girl con- 
tinued, as she set to work to improve the white tie ; 
“ but, remember, you are not to fall in love with her, or 
I shall be jealous. You belong to me, you know. You 
are my dear old Chris — all my own !” 

The boy did not smile, only his face grew very red, 
and then very pale ; and there was an expres- 


216 


LITTLE KIT. 


sion in his honest eyes which, had Kit not been so intent 
on her task, might have revealed even more than Chris 
himself was conscious of. Kit did not look up, how- 
ever. She pulled and tugged at the white tie, and at 
last settled it to her satisfaction. 

“There !” she said, stepping back a yard to survey 
the result of her labors. “ There ! Now you are beau- 
tiful ! Oh, Philip, is that you ? I have been tying 
Chris’s tie. Ain’t I clever ? I am sure you could not 
have done it better. Now, could you ?” 

Sir Philip came in smiling. He had her cloak on his 
arm — something very beautiful and costly, made of 
white fur and velvet. 

“ You area baby,” he said, and his voice was full of 
tenderness. 

“ You sha’n’t call me a baby long. Wait till you get 
into Parliament, and then — ” 

Kit laughed up into her husband’s face as he 
enveloped her in the mantle, and blew a kiss to her old 
playmate. 

“ Come downstairs with us. I expect Sibyl is here, 
and I will introduce you to her.” 

Mrs. Montgomery had arrived, and Chris felt, as he 
shook hands with her, that there would be no very 
great difficulty in liking her. 

Sibyl, beside Kit, looked homely, and not even prett)^ ; 
but her eyes spoke the truth of her heart, and her 
voice was full of womanliness and sweetness. 

The dinner to which Sir Philip and his young w r ife 
were bidden was at one of the most influential and 
aristocratic houses in London. 

After the dinner there was a reception given in 
honor of some foreign potentate who was passing 
through town. 

Society was new and delightful to Kit. She would 


LITTLE KIT. 


217 


have been dreadfully afraid of everybody and every- 
thing had she not had Philip always beside her to give 
her courage and to whisper what she must do. 

Her beauty first, and then the soul in that beauty, 
would have won her a pleasant path under any circum- 
stances ; but as Philip Desmond’s wife it was an ex- 
ceptionally pleasant one. 

She was voted absolutely charming. Her wonder- 
ful coloring ; her simple, childlike manner ; her gentle 
voice ; her deep, dreamy face, that yet had the power 
to change and hold such marvelous shades of color and 
depths of thought — all these, allied to her slender 
young form, made her an object of immediate admira- 
tion wherever she might go. 

She was surrounded after dinner by half a dozen 
men, all eager for a word with the new beauty, and 
Philip, sitting apart, watched her with a heart in which 
love and pride and happiness swelled and lived without 
a cloud. 

He knew the meaning of life now. He had never 
lived before. It seemed to him sometimes as though 
it were all some marvelous dream, some creation of 
his thoughts and hopes. 

He -could not realize in the.se moments that it was 
a reality, an actual, existing reality. His happiness 
seemed too great. 

As he sat discussing politics, with his heart across 
the room where that graceful white figure stood, a 
vision of loveliness, with her red-hued hair showing 
out clearly against the background of palms and 
ferns, Maurice Montgomery came into the room, and 
almost immediately after him Lady Sinclair, her hus- 
band, a young man and Constance Marlowe. 

Lord Sinclair made his way at once to Philip, and 
the others followed. 


LITTLE KIT. 


218 

Maurice had turned and was strolling beside Con- 
stance. His eyes were fixed on Kit’s laughing face. 

Constance, albeit a little agitated as to how Philip 
Desmond would act when she approached him, did 
not fail to make the most of her opportunities and 
watch Maurice carefully. 

As she walked along beside him she was more and 
more convinced that there was some mystery connected 
between Kit and Sibyl’s husband. 

The thing that puzzled her was what the mystery 
could be. She had racked her brains to discover some 
meaning, but none would come. She must wait and 
watch. 

Philip Desmond saw her coming, and he frowned. 
But he was the kindest-hearted man in the world. As 
he looked at Constance’s pale face (she had grown very 
white) , he was disturbed. His happiness was so great 
he felt generously disposed toward all the world even 
toward those whom he could not call his friends. 

He need not fear any further harm from this girl. 
His darling had him to shield her now, and Constance 
was, after all, a woman. She deserved some considera- 
tion on that score alone, if on no other. 

He came forward and held out his hand to her. 

“ You have had along cruise,” he said, in his pleasant 
voice. “ Lena tells me you have been half-way round 
the world ?” 

“ Not quite so far as that,” Constance answered, in 
her gentle fashion ; “ but it has been very enjoyable.” 
She hesitated, and then said, her manner a little nerv- 
ous : “ Kit is with you, of course ?” 

“ She is just before us,” Philip answered ; and then 
he turned to Maurice. “ I have to finish my discussion 

with Lord . Will you go and bring my wife 

here, Maurice ? She has not seen Miss Marlowe enter.” 


LITTLE KIT. 


219 


“I will go to her,” Constance said, quickly. “You 
forget, Sir Philip, we all have to pay homage to a bride. 
Captain Montgomery will allow me to accompany 
him.” 

Maurice bowed and held out his arm. 

Lady Sinclair, who had been watching Constance 
carefully throughout her meeting with Sir Philip, gave 
a sigh of relief. She had feared this moment so much, 
for she had grown almost convinced that Constance 
cared only too deeply for the man she had so much de- 
sired to marry. When she saw how composed and 
quiet Miss Marlowe was, she felt all at once as though 
she had made a mistake. 

“ And so, after all, there may be a hope for this poor 
creature,” she thought to herself, with a glance at the 
young man who was standing beside her, and who was 
watching Constance tenderly, almost despairingly. 

Kit was laughing prettily at some amusing story, 
when her cousin came up with Captain Montgomery. 
Her face flushed with pleasure. There was such a 
look of pleading in Constance’s eyes that Kit’s ten- 
der heart was touched immediately. 

“ Dear Constance,” she said, stretching out both her 
hands, “ this is a surprise. We thought you were still 
far away. When did you arrive ? Come and sit down 
here in this corner ; we have so much to talk over.” 

Constance allowed her hand to be drawn through 
Kit’s arm. As they were going toward the corner Kit 
had alluded to she looked back. 

“ You saw Captain Montgomery, Kit ?” she said, as 
though she imagined Maurice had been overlooked. 

Kit smiled hurriedly. 

“ I have already seen Captain Montgomery to-day. 
We met this afternoon in Bond Street.” She looked 
Maurice for an instant straight in the eyes. “ Sibyl i$ 


220 


LITTLE KIT. 


dining at my house. She did not tell us you were com- 
ing here.” 

“ I did not know it myself until after my dinner,” 
Maurice answered. 

His manner was like hers, cold but easy ; there was 
nothing to give the 'slightest clue to the keen-eyed, cal- 
culating woman who stood beside them watching them 
so carefully. 

“ Nor did I know Sibyl intended going out this even- 
ing, Lady Desmond. This is the first intimation I 
have had of her dining at your house.” 

Kit smiled faintly. 

“ She is entertaining a young man, a guest whom I 
could not bring to-night. You saw him with me this 
afternoon ;” and then she turned her lovely face to 
Constance. “ Come and tell me all about your yacht- 
ing trip,” she said, as they moved away. 

Constance bit her lip. The change in her cousin 
was something which partook of an evil to herself. 

Formerly it was Kit who had been awkward and 
clumsy in her presence ; now the order was reversed. 
For the moment she felt gauche and indescribably con- 
fused. Although she was certain that Philip had kept 
his word, and had told his young wife nothing of her 
falseness, she had all the mauvaise honte upon her that 
would have come had she known Kit was cognizant of 
all that had taken place. 

Her astonishment at the girl’s dignity and ease of 
manner was almost as great as that which filled Mau- 
rice’s breast, although that one notable meeting be- 
tween them had prepared Constance in some degree 
for the change in Kit. 

To Maurice the metamorphosis was little less than 
marvelous. He found himself doubting his own eyes 
and his memory. Could this be that slender, dream- 


LITTLE KIT. 


221 


like vision of a girl who had touched even his selfish 
heart by her desolate, wan air and the prophecy of a 
sorrowful future which had seemed so clearly written 
in her beautiful, unconscious eyes and had clung 
about her every movement ? 

In that one short week which seemed so far, far 
away now, Kit had been so timid, so full of doubt and 
fear until he had drawn the courage from her by his 
well-simulated sympathy. 

There was scarcely a resemblance between the girl 
whose heart he thought he had won in the moonlight 
and this beautiful young creature who bore herself so 
proudly, and yet who possessed the fragrance of unso- 
phisticatedness and youth in her pride. 

Maurice felt at a disadvantage beside her, he who 
was so skilled a tactician and man of the world. He had 
naturally con’soled himself by thinking that the moment 
he stood face to face with Philip Desmond’s wife the 
order of her affairs would be reversed, all the mortifica- 
tion he had endured during the past few weeks would 
give way to satisfaction, and a certain triumph would 
be his, as the girl’s weakness must undoubtedly reveal 
itself. 

Maurice was so absolutely convinced on the point of 
Kit’s love for himself that such thoughts came natur- 
ally. 

Her treatment of him was nothing more nor less in 
his eyes than the acting of a woman in whom circum- 
stances had developed all the cleverness and art which 
constituted to a man of Maurice Montgomery’s mental 
calibre the ordinary nature of an ordinary woman. 

It is true that for a time he had felt that in Kit he 
was dealing with material that was new and almost in- 
comprehensible to him, and that had been the girl’s 
chief attraction ; but Maurice never deceived himself ; 


222 


LITTLE KIT. 


he knew now that had he been permitted to carry out 
his schemes and have claimed Kit as his own, the nov- 
elty and charm would have lasted a very short period, 
and at no time would she have appeared so attractive 
or have tormented him so much as she did now. 

To him her dignity, her coldness, her apparent in- 
difference were all so many gradations of her heart ; 
she had enchanted him far more by this than she had 
done with her dream-like innocence and unsophistica- 
tedness. 

Her beauty was enhanced by her new bearing and by 
her elegant surroundings. Maurice felt his heart 
beating fast as he stood apart and watched her talking 
to Constance. Between his set teeth he swore an oath 
that he would be avenged, and shortly too, for all the 
bad moments she had given him. He would shake her 
pride and uproot her indifference. She should look him 
in the eyes and confess her misery and her love. 

It maddened him to see her smiling with a radiance 
on her face that seemed to be absolute content and the 
dawning of that wonderful happiness which only comes 
with the thorough comprehension and touch of true love. 
At odd moments the thought asserted itself that per- 
haps she was not acting ; that, perhaps, her indifference 
was real ; that the look in her face, as she turned it to- 
ward her husband, meant that she had indeed forgot- 
ten the past and was living only for the present. He 
clenched his hands as these thoughts came, and then he 
dismissed them. They were so ridiculous ! That she 
could possibly love Philip ! Philip the old fogy ! The 
dull, prosy, middle-aged savant ! That she could love 
Philip after she had loved him ! Oh ! the idea was 
too absurd to live an instant. 

Maurice was standing watching the graceful figure 
in its clinging white gown, following each expression 


LITTLE Kit. 


223 


of the exquisite face, and marveling anon at the won- 
drous beauty of the hair and eyes, when Philip came 
up to him. 

“ I want you to see my wife home. Maurice," he 
said, as he slipped his hand through the younger man’s 
arm, and turned toward Kit. “You will like to pick 

up Sibyl, and Lord wants me to go with him to 

the Carlton for half an hour. I may be kept late. Kit 
looks tired already. By the way, you have never told 
me what you think of my wife." 

Maurice answered as quietly as he could : 

“ Surely you must know my opinion. There can be 
but one where Lady Desmond is concerned ; her 
beauty is marvelous, and she looks as sweet as she is 
lovely ; but you know I had a slight acquaintance with 
her back in the summer. You remember my accident at 
the Priory and the skillful way in which I was treated ?" 

“ Ah, to be sure. I had forgotten it ; well, there is 
not very much change, is there? Kit is just as great a 
child as she was then." Philip was looking at her ten- 
derly ; he half-turned to Maurice. “You must be great 
friends, you and my little wife, Maurice. You two 
ought to learn to care for each other, if only because 
you are both dear to me." 

In this moment all Philip’s old affection revived for 
the boy of whom he had been so proud. Maurice bit his 
lip. Before this man, so upright, so honorable, so noble, 
the ignominy of his own nature would assert itself. He 
felt himself to be what he really was — mean, despicable, 
dishonorable. For one instant he hesitated in his evil 
thoughts, and then his eyes rested on Kit, and they 
grew only doubly stronger. 

“ If ever Lady Desmond should need a friend, let her 
turn to me," he answered Philip, who smiled with 
pleasure at the earnestness in his voice. 


224 


LITTLE KIT. 


Then they were beside Kit, and Philip took her hand 
for an instant, as he explained that he would be un- 
able to accompany her home. 

“ This is what politics can do — separate a man from 
his wife ! You will forgive me, dear one ?” 

Kit pressed his hand closely, and then she felt sud- 
denly cold with anger and dismay, as her husband con- 
tinued : 

“ Maurice will see you safely home, darling,” Philip 
said ; “ he is prepared to be your cavalier now, and at 
all times, so he tells me.” 

Philip turned his smiling face toward Maurice, and 
did not see the expression that suddenly came into 
Kit’s eyes, as she replied to him. Her voice was very 
quiet. 

“ Captain Montgomery is very kind,” she said ; “ and 
as my dear Sibyl’s husband and your friend, I shall al- 
ways be glad to see him ; but to-night I hope he will 
forgive me if I cannot avail myself of his kind offer. I 
want to drive Constance, and the brougham will only 
just hold us women, with our belongings.” 

Constance shot a glance at Maurice, who had turned 
a sullen red, and then grown very pale. She could not 
but admire Kit’s quiet, determined manner, and the 
tact with which she had steered through what was evi- 
dently a disagreeable, maybe a dangerous moment. 
But it was not admiration that gave her the sudden 
pleasure she experienced ; it was the satisfaction of 
feeling that she was at once put on the trail that should 
lead to Kit’s undoing and Philip’s punishment. She 
was clever enough immediately to accept the hint con- 
veyed in Kit’s speech. 

“ I am sure Captain Montgomery will think all sorts 
of hard things about me,” she said, in her soft voice ; 
“ only he must remember Kit and I have such heaps 


LITTLE KIT. 


225 


of things to talk about, and he will have other oppor- 
tunities.” 

“ I will take you down to the carriage,” Philip said, 
and he offered his arm to Constance. He was vaguely 
conscious of a jar somewhere, but he could not exactly 
determine what it was or whence it came, save, per- 
haps, that it would have given him more pleasure if 
his little one had gone home with Maurice rather than 
with Constance. He had met the latter kindly, and 
with a generosity she did not deserve ; but he by no 
means desired or intended that she should become in- 
timate with Kit. She was false and untruthful, and 
Philip could never forget this, however much his nat- 
ural kindness might allow him to treat her gently. It 
was too late, however, to alter the arrangements of 
the moment, though Philip determined he would not 
permit or encourage any intimacy between Kit and 
her cousin. Though his kindness had allowed him 
to treat Constance generously, the story of her past 
conduct would never be forgotten by Philip, and 
must ever cloud and shadow her character in his 
eyes. 

Maurice followed beside Kit in silence, until they 
reached a bend in the staircase ; then the madness in 
him found words. 

“ Are we, then, to play the farce out to the bitter 
end ?” he said, wildly, recklessly. “ Are we to go on 
like this forever ?” 

Kit looked at him, the blood receding from her face 
at his tone, his look, his words. For the first time she 
realized that there might be danger and trouble 
ahead. 

Her eyes answered him eloquently. He winced be- 
neath her horror, her contempt, her dislike. As they 
moved on she said, distinctly : 


226 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ I will tell your wife you are coming for her, if she 
is not already gone,” she said. And with that she spoke 
no other word. 

As they drove away, Constance, bending forward, 
caught sight of his face, and her heart beat fast at the 
sight. 

“ The train is laid ; the match is ready,” she said to 
herself ; “it will not be long now, and I shall not have 
waited and suffered in vain.” 


LITTLE KIT. 


227 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The days that followed were busy ones with Philip 
and pleasant ones for Kit. She insisted on keeping 
Chris a visitor for an indefinite period. 

“ Your mother doesn’t want you, and I do,” she cried. 

There were merry hours spent with Sibyl and Chris 
— shopping, seeing such pictures as were to be seen at 
that time of year, driving, riding, going to the theatre. 

The girl was absolutely happy. If it had not been 
for the fact that Philip could not be so much with her, 
and for the knowledge that would force itself upon her 
that Sibyl’s shadow had already gathered on the hori- 
zon of her life, Kit would have wanted for nothing. 

The pleasant, almost affectionate intercourse which 
had sprung up between her cousin and herself gave 
her unlimited pleasure. 

She could never bear malice to a single soul, and 
when she saw that Constance was sincerely eager to 
be friends, she never once allowed her mind to recall 
the past or imagine the cynical things which would 
have come so easily to a more worldly nature. 

As to Maurice, the morning’s light and the comfort 
and joy of Philip’s presence soon dispelled the vague 
fears she had felt that night when he had spoken so 
recklessly and looked so strange. 

She was glad she did not see very much of him and 
more glad still that Sibyl did not discuss her husband 
with her, as she had been wont to do at the first. 

Chris was a great delight to Kit. They had such a 


228 


LITTLE KIT. 


splendid time ! They revived all their old ways — were 
as full of laughter and fun as two kittens. 

Sir Philip, coming home a little earlier than antici- 
pated, would meet Kit flying down the stairs, her red 
locks disheveled, her arms thrown about him, clinging 
to him with excited laughter, and imploring protection 
from her pursuer. 

“ I am the most undignified person in the whole 
world,” Kit would say at such moments, and Philip 
would wrap his arms about her and pray she might al- 
ways continue young, fresh, innocent, without the faint- 
est shadow of the world’s taint in her heart and 
nature. 

He encouraged these romps and “ disgraceful goings 
on,” as Lady Sinclair called them, when she heard de- 
tails of Philip’s wife from Constance. 

Lena Sinclair was loyal to the backbone ; she had, of 
course, paid a slight deference to Kit in calling upon 
her ; but she would have no friendship with the girl. 

She resented her conduct in every sense of the word ; 
she was Constance Marlowe’s friend, and as that friend 
she determined that Kit had done her cousin the great- 
est wrong one woman could do another. 

She had not forgiven Philip, but she could forget her 
affection for her old friend, and that softened her anger ; 
but Kit had no claim on either her affection or her 
friendship, and Lady Sinclair would have nothing to do 
with her at all. 

She was vexed with Constance for allowing herself 
to drift into an intimacy with the “ red-headed hoiden 
but, after all, it was only on a par with all her sweet- 
ness. 

Already Lady Sinclair was busy arranging a mar- 
riage between Constance and the young man who had 
followed her as a shadow since Sibyl Leith’s wedding ; 


LITTLE KIT. 


229 


but, despite this, she did not allow her objection to Kit 
to grow less, and all the harmless amusements of our 
poor little heroine were regarded as so many horrors 
by Constance’s friend. The presence of Chris she re- 
garded as a disgrace. 

“ Really, Philip should put his foot down. What- 
ever they may do inside the house, is one thing — 
though, of course, the servants are scandalized by such 
harum-scarum proceedings — but when it comes to run- 
ning races in Hyde Park — well !” 

“ It was at seven o’clock in the morning, across the 
grass, dear. There was not a soul to see them except 
a workman or two.” 

Constance took up the gauntlet for her cousin. 

“ You are an angel and Philip is a fool ! He will 
rue his mistake, mark my words ; he will rue the day 
he married that girl !” 

“ Dear Lena, I wish you would try to like Kit a lit- 
tle for my sake. She is really a dear, good little 
soul !” 

“ She may be the best creature on earth, I sha’n’t 
like her, and I don’t approve of her !” declared pretty 
little Lady Sinclair. “ I can’t bear red hair, and you 
know that, Constie, so why try to cram her down my 
throat ? It makes me mad to see Philip’s silly infatu- 
ation about her. She can twist him round her little 
finger. I wonder if he would care so much for her if 
he knew she could lie and behave as she did when she 
ran away from The Limes, and did her best to disgrace 
you ?” 

For Constance had confided her lying story to her 
friend. She was bound to give some explanation for 
Kit’s presence with Lady Milborough, and she did not 
wish to lose a shade of Lady Sinclair’s friendship and 
belief by letting the truth of the matter come out. She 


230 


LITTLE KIT. 


bound Lena to absolute secrecy and confidence before 
she again traduced poor Kit, and she knew she could 
trust Lady Sinclair implicitly. Nevertheless, some- 
times she was nervous lest in her unconcealed dislike 
to Kit Lena might bring about an explanation and 
quarrel with Philip, in the course of which she might 
inadvertently disclose some of Constance’s falseness, 
and then — Well, Constance did not care to think 
what Philip might not do. She knew he did not trust 
her, she knew he regarded her friendship with Kit by 
no means with pleasure, and she felt sure he kept a 
close watch upon her every movement. She did not 
want to quarrel with him, at least not just yet — not 
until things had developed a little more. 

Things were very slow in developing. Constance 
grew impatient beyond control at times — she was so 
keen-eyed, she watched so carefully, and there was ab- 
solutely nothing to reward her. 

Her scheme of vengeance was by no means an easy 
one — the presence of Chris was to her an absolute 
block ; Kit’s deep sympathy and constant companion- 
ship with Sibyl was another. However, there was no 
hurry. Constance was not the woman she was, not to 
know full well that Maurice was not silent all this time 
without some good reason. She saw him often, and she 
could almost read his emotion in his moody face. For 
the first time she regretted that they could not have 
been more sympathetic, as their united forces would 
have been so strong in bringing about the result they 
both had at heart ; as it was, they had to work apart. 

Innocent, and happily ignorant of the malice that so 
closely surrounded her, Kit went on her way rejoicing, 
growing more and more beautiful and precious in her 
husband’s eyes, revealing new beauties of mind and 
nature every day, and learning slowly and surely the 


LITTLE KIT. 


231 


most exquisite lesson a woman’s heart can know. Her 
love for Philip was growing almost beyond her com- 
prehension. Of all her little jaunts with Chris, there 
was none that gave her more pleasure than to run 
away from town in the careful protection of her “ chum,” 
and spend a few hours with Lady Milborough. 

She loved to hear over and over again all the old 
stories of Philip’s goodness and nobility ; they were 
stories that never grew stale. And she loved to wan- 
der out into the old garden ; though it was leafless and 
bare now, it was to her one of the most beautiful spots 
on earth. She would w T alk under the old trees, and in 
fancy conjure up the summer days when she had 
walked there with Philip beside her, growing to care 
for her slowly and surely, and becoming to her 
the pleasantest and truest friend she possessed. 
And then that wonderful day when he had spoken to 
her, and taken her in his arms and kissed away her 
tears, wrapping her about with his love to protect her 
from that day henceforth. Chris had always refrained 
from teasing her on their return home from these vis- 
its. He had, deeply buried in his young, honest heart, 
a sympathy with the girl in these moods, and he would 
sit silent, thinking his own thoughts and learning for 
the first time a little of the sorrow that must come to 
all hearts, as he felt how hopeless his adoration and 
love were. Yet he was happy, too, for he knew Kit 
was unchanged, and Philip gave him his frank, un- 
doubted friendship. 

“ I am afraid Maurice will be jealous,” Philip said to 
Kit one evening, as she sat on his knee after dinner. 
“ I told him he might regard himself as your occasional 
cavalier, and you have never employed him once. You 
are a stanch little bird. You prefer your Chris to any 
one in the world after me, I do believe.” 


232 


LITTLE KIT. 


Kit nodded her head. 

“ I do,” she said honestly. “ I know Chris, and I 
love him, he is such a brick !” She paused a moment. 
“And, then, Captain Montgomery has Sibyl, and he 
ought to be her cavalier.” 

Philip kissed the beautiful hair and throat. 

“ And is he not, little one ?” he asked. 

Kit answered him hurriedly. Her voice was sad. 
She spoke as though some thought must have a vent. 

“ Philip,” she said, “ I fear — I fear sometimes Sibyl 
is not too happy.” 

Philip frowned. He woke out of his dreamland, and 
all the vague fears and doubts of Maurice returned to 
him anew. 

“Does she complain of — ” he began. 

“Complain! Sibyl!” Kit looked at him. Already 
she regretted she had .said so much. “Why, Sibyl 
would die before she said a word against him. She 
loves him with all her heart and soul ; almost ” — she 
buried her face on his shoulder for a moment — “al- 
most,” she finished in a whisper — “ as I do you !” 

“ My heart ! My love !” Philip said, pressing her 
close in his arms ; and then he was silent for a while. 
“ I hope you are not right, little one,” he said, when he 
spoke. “ I cannot bear to think that Maurice — ” 

“ Oh, it is because Sibyl loves too much, I fear,” Kit 
said hastily. 

Never from her lips should Philip hear wrong of the 
man he had loved so well and so long, and yet it was 
so contrary to her nature to have anything secret from 
him. 

He looked at her quizzically, yet half sadly. 

“ If that is so, then you — ” 

She interrupted him with a kiss. 

“ Ah, no ! You are — you. It would be impossible to 


LITTLE KIT. 


233 


love you too much ! But, then, there is no other man 
like you, my Philip !” 

He smiled at her tenderly. 

“ You will make me vain, little one !” he answered ; 
and then he changed the subject and asked what the 
movements of the evening were. 

“ Chris and I are coming to hear you speak.” 

He shook his head. 

“ It is not fit for you. It is in the wilds of the East 
End. You must not come, my darling.” 

“ Oh, Philip !” 

Tears of disappointment sprang to her eyes; but 
Philip was firm. The constituents he was about to ad- 
dress were culled from the roughest class, and he 
could not bear that Kit should go among them. 

“You shall hear me another time when I am in a 
more respectable neighborhood.” 

Kit put her head on his shoulder again. 

“ I shall be glad when the speeching is all done, and 
then I shall have you to myself again.” 

“You are not tired, then, of your old husband?” 
Philip said, smilingly, as he rose to go. 

Kit threatened him with all sorts of dire punish- 
ment, and went with him while he put on his coat. 

“ I shall sit up for you, and if you find Chris tarred 
and feathered when you come home, you will know it 
is the outcome of my mutiny. He has become awful. 
I have not a moment’s peace.” 

Chris’s long figure lounged into the hall at this 
speech. Philip slapped the young fellow on the 
back. 

“ I give her into your charge, Chris ; see that she 
behaves herself and is a good girl.” 

“ I ’ll look after her, never fear,” Chris said, the color 
mounting to his face, though the words were spoken 


234 


LITTLE KIT. 


in jest. He knew Philip liked him, and he was grate- 
ful and honored by the older man’s friendship. 

Philip stopped for an instant at his club. As he left 
it again and ran down the steps, he met Maurice ; they 
exchanged a few words, and then Philip said : 

“ I hear Sibyl is away. Why don’t you run in and 
see my wife for half an hour ? She will be delighted. 
She wanted to come and hear me speak, but I could 
not let her come to-night ; my audience will be a rough 
one, and she is alone with young Hornton. You might 
cheer her up ; tell her I sent you.” 

To himself, as he rolled away, Philip was thinking 
over what Kit had said about Sibyl. 

“Surely, Maurice cannot fail to make her happy. I 
know he is selfish, but he loves her, and it is so early, 
and there is great good in him, I am sure. Perhaps if 
he only gets friendly with my darling, she may be able 
to say something in her soft little way and do good. 
What an element of good there is about her ! She 
would draw it out of a stone. How little I thought of 
the treasure that was coming into my life that day I 
first saw her !” 

Maurice stood and stared after the brougham. 

“ He is a fool !” he said to himself, in a quiet, dogged 
way, and then he went into the club and sat down, 
thinking for awhile. When he rose it was with deter- 
mination in his mind. “ That lout of a boy is there, 
but I will get rid of him somehow. I must think of an 
excuse.” 

He hailed a hansom and was driven to the Des- 
monds’ house. Just as he was alighting the door 
opened, and Chris came out. 

There was not much liking between the two — Chris, 
with that shrewdness which was his only cleverness, 
reading Captain Montgomery pretty clearly, and, as a 


LITTLE KIT. 


235 


matter of fact, doubting him ; and Maurice objecting 
to Chris for a dozen reasons, but chief of all because 
Kit was so attached to him. 

“ I want to see Lady Desmond ; I have just run 
against Philip, and he asked me to bring her a mes- 
sage.” 

“ She is in,” Chris said, in his abrupt way. 

He had allowed himself to be cajoled by Kit into go- 
ing down to hear Philip’s speech. 

“ I must not go, but you can,” the girl cried. “ Oh, 
Chris, you must go ! I want to hear all about it !’* 

“ But Sir Philip said I was to take care of you,” 
Chris began, dubiously. 

Kit stamped her foot, just as in the old days, and 
flashed fire out of her eyes. 

“ As if I could not take care of myself, booby, and 
as if I would let you take care of me !” And then she 
changed her key : “ Chris, you are an angel ! You will 
go, won’t you, darling ? And remember, Chris, you 
are to applaud loudly and make a great noise and fuss 
over him. Oh, how I wish Philip would only let me 
go !” 

“ Oh, we all know what a row you can make when 
you like,” Chris said, ungallantly, and then he let her 
push him into his coat, and she blew him a kiss as he 
went down the hall. 

“ I shall love you forever !” she cried, and she danced 
into her boudoir and drew a chair up to the blazing 
fire and threw her lovely little person into it, to sit 
there and dream about Philip and follow in her imag- 
ination all the events of the night 

This speech was an important one, and might decide 
everything in his favor, therefore Kit was in great 
excitement. 

She was soon lost in her dream, while Chris and 


236 


LITTLE KIT. 


Maurice Montgomery exchanged a few remarks, and 
then Chris got into a cab and was driven away, and 
Maurice followed the butler up the stairs. 

“ Sir Philip has given me a" message to deliver to 
Lady Desmond,” he said, and the servant, who had 
known him many years, saw nothing strange in his 
late visit. 

He threw open the door of the boudoir, waking Kit 
from her happy dreams, and ushered in Maurice with 
a curt : 

“ Captain Montgomery, my lady !” 

Kit turned in her chair, then rose to her feet. She 
was at a disadvantage in this moment. All the calm- 
ness and coolness that had individualized her former 
meetings with Maurice deserted her. She lapsed for 
an instant into the shrinking, timid Kit he had first 
known, as he came toward her, easily, nonchalantly, 
holding out his hand, with a conventional greeting on 
his lips and a smile of triumph in his eyes. 


VY>v 


LITTLE KIT. 


237 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Kit recovered herself almost immediately, though 
she had been terribly startled. Maurice’s name, fol- 
lowed by his immediate entrance, had destroyed the 
pleasure of her thoughts. 

She barely touched his hand. The butler was in the 
room, or she would not have done that much ; and then, 
as the door closed and they were alone, she turned to 
him. 

She was trembling in every limb ; he could see it 
plainly. Her appearance made him mute. He had 
never seen her as she was to-night. 

She wore a loose robe of clinging silk, soft and 
heavy, of a deep, warm red ; her white throat and arms 
showed like marble by the contrast, and her hair 
seemed to gain new beauty from the coloring of the 
silk. 

It was a daring thing to wear, but it had been her 
own fancy, and the result certainly justified the idea. 

In her hair, which was wound into a loose coronet, 
she wore a star of diamonds and rubies, that quivered 
and shot a thousand lights, and at her throat, holding 
the folds of her dress together, was another star. 

Her beauty was almost bewildering. Even as her 
white, troubled face recalled a momentary remem- 
brance of the girl he had been wont to meet in the 
moonlight, the recollection went and amazement and 
admiration came in its stead. Although she bore her- 
self quietly and held her head haughtily, Kit was 


238 


LITTLE KIT. 


dreadfully nervous ; for the first time, she was afraid 
of this handsome, determined-looking man, whom she 
had so quietly and successfully ignored up to now. 

Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. 

“ I — I am sorry you have chosen so late an hour for 
your visit, Captain Montgomery. My husband has 
just gone out, and — and I know he will not return for 
Some hours.” 

Maurice answered her coolly : 

“ I know. It is the reason for my being here. I met 
Philip at the Carlton. He told me you were alone, 
asked me to come and see you, and said I was to tell 
you he had sent me.” 

Kit’s courage came back to her by degrees — her 
courage and her contempt. 

“ I am sorry,” she said coldly, “ that you should have 
misunderstood my husband. Above all things, he 
studies my pleasure, and he knows that in his absence 
I prefer to spend my evening alone if I cannot have 
the society of a friend. You will forgive me if I seem 
rude, but — ” 

She turned to put her hand on the bell. Maurice, 
pale to the lips, stood in the way. 

“ No !” he said hurriedly, fiercely. “ No ! You shall 
not dismiss me yet. I have something to say to you, 
Kit.” 

She grew as pale as he, but her courage and her 
contempt grew greater and greater. 

“ I do not want to speak to you. You can have noth- 
ing to say to me that I can care to hear. Please un- 
derstand that now and always.” She moved away a 
few steps. “ Of course, I cannot force you to go away,” 
she said coldly, “ but I can go myself.” 

Maurice moved after her and stood before her, his 
hands dropped to his side, his face fierce with his anger. 


LITTLE KIT. 


239 


“ You shall hear me ! You shall hear me !” he said, 
his last shred of self-respect and honor going from 
him. 

Kit drew back from him, the pallor of her face was 
made greater by the contrast of her hair and her gown. 
She was trembling from real fear. She had never 
known such fear before. She had never been forced 
into such warfare. She did not understand it nor 
know how to meet it. She was by nature proud and 
dignified — unusually so, all things considered ; cold 
when the circumstances demanded it. But she was 
only a woman, and it was her very youth and natural 
innocence that had led her into the difficulty which 
now stared her in the face. 

Had she been of different fiber — had she had the 
heart and mind of Constance Marlowe — things would 
never have come to this pass. She would have fore- 
seen the danger ahead of her, and have temporized 
with Maurice, have treated him gently, disguising her 
real feelings under a mask of outward, civility, instead 
of letting him see so clearly her dislike and scorn. 
That would have been the movement of a woman of 
the world. But Kit was not a woman of the world. 
She had studied nothing but the truth of her feelings. 
She had treated Maurice as she felt he ought to be 
treated — coldly and proudly. She knew he was not a 
good man, but she had never dreamed it possible a 
man could be so base and wrong as he now showed 
himself to be. She had imagined, of course, that he 
would understand it was only the difficulty of her posi- 
tion as Philip Desmond’s wife and his own wife’s friend 
that allowed her even to extend to him the bare cour- 
tesy she had given him. 

She had not much worldly knowledge, but her wom- 
an’s intuition prompted her to know that ninety-nine 


240 


LITTLE KIT. 


men out of a hundred would have been relieved when 
they found they had escaped the consequences of their 
folly so easily as he had done, and that nothing re- 
mained from that midsummer madness in the moon- 
light but forgetfulness. Her anger against him now 
was greater than she had ever felt in her life as yet. 
The memory of Sibyl gave it strength, and the thought 
of her own dear husband and protector added to that 
strength. 

“You are a coward — a coward !” she said, with fierce, 
hot anger and agitation. “You know I do not want 
to speak to you. You know what I think of you. You 
must know what a bad, wicked, wrong man I think 
you. And yet ” — she caught her breath — “ and yet 
you come to me like this and insult me in my own 
house when Philip is away, and I have no one to help 

. 9 9 

me. 

Her heart beat so quickly it almost choked her. She 
drew back farther from him and from his eyes, that 
had such a cruel, glittering look in them ; tears were 
in her throat and blinding her sight, but she struggled 
to conquer her weakness, and succeeded to a marvel- 
ous degree, not, however, without letting him see what 
an effort it was. 

If he had been inclined to be manly and generous, 
her frank confession of contempt would not have swept 
this mood aside ; as it was, however, Maurice never for 
a single instant intended to lose the opportunity he 
had grasped with such difficulty. 

His jealousy, his vanity, his temper, overruled all 
other feelings, and Kit’s open warfare was something 
that roused his brute nature to its fullest extent. 

“ I know none of these things,” he answered her. in 
a dogged, set fashion. “ What 1 do know is, that your 
clever attempt at acting does not deceive me as it does 


LITTLE KIT. 


241 


the other fools. I know you, Kit, and I know that you 
are not the sort of being who forgets easily. A few 
months ago you learned to love me — deny it if you can. 
You learned to love me then, you love me now, and 
you will love me all your life !” 

She spoke no word as he ceased. His eyes, resting 
on her, saw her shudder and draw back from him still 
farther. 

This action spoke to him more eloquently than any 
speech. If ever a woman held any man to be con- 
temptible, unworthy, dishonorable, this girl held him 
to be that man. 

The realization of this made him mad. 

“ Deny this — deny it !” he said, roughly, his hand- 
some face distorted by his passion into almost a hid- 
eous one. “ Remember the nights you used to steal 
out of the Leiths’ house and join me under the trees in 
the Square garden ; remember all we said there in the 
moonlight, and then attempt to deny your love for me 
if you can !” 

Kit stood looking at him. Her heart was beating 
fast, so fast as to be almost a pain in her breast ; but 
contempt, horror, dislike of this man were stronger 
than her fear. 

“ You are a coward !” she said. “ Love you ! — you ! 
whom I know to be so base, so unworthy ! Love you !” 
She looked him straight in the eyes with her own mag- 
nificent orbs, fierce almost from the vehemence of her 
anger and disgust. “ Love you ! I despise you from 
the bottom of my heart, and you know it. And now, 
please, will you go ? You offer an insult to my hus- 
band as well as to myself by remaining here any 
longer when you dare to hold such wicked thoughts. 
If you refuse to show me the courtesy due to a woman, 
I must remind you that you profess to call yourself 


24:2 


LITTLE KIT. 


Philip’s friend, and that a woman I love very dearly 
has the misfortune to be your wife. With these — ” 

She broke off suddenly, abruptly, for the door 
opened at that minute. She moved forward with a 
half-broken cry of joy as Chris came in, followed by 
Constance Marlowe. 

There was a moment’s silence, awkward and uncom- 
fortable. Chris looked very red in the face, and began 
speaking, in his odd, jerky fashion. 

“ I forgot my umbrella ; I knew I couldn’t make 
much noise without it, so I came back ; and then I 
thought I might as well stay, as I found Miss Marlowe 
on the stairs.” 

He gave Constance a sharp look out of his honest 
blue eyes. He never trusted her, and he felt — though, 
of course, he could not be sure — that he had double 
reason for doubting her at this moment. 

Constance, seeing everything and understanding it 
all, was laughing easily as she explained her sudden 
appearance. 

She had driven round from Lady Sinclair’s on the 
chance of finding Kit at home and alone, and had 
arrived just before Mr. Hornton had returned. 

“ I knew Sir Philip was speaking in some terrible 
East-End spot, and I felt I should probably find you 
in. I am in luck’s way for once.” 

She spoke the truth in the last words ; she was cer- 
tainly in luck’s way to have crept so softly up to the 
door, and have stood there listening to the quick, pas- 
sionate words that had passed within between the two 
whom she had set herself to watch so carefully. 

Her heart was beating fast with excitement. She 
had wanted a clue only, and now she was in possession 
of the whole secret, and what a disgraceful secret it 
was ! 


LITTLE KIT. 


243 


There came quite a glow of righteous horror and 
indignation into Constance’s breast as she recalled 
Maurice’s loudly uttered words. 

To Constance his rough* rude epitome of what had 
passed conveyed everything that was base and 
shameful. 

She was not in the least impressed by the absolute 
innocence that had rung in every tone of Kit’s voice. 
There had been no denial of Maurice’s statement ; 
there had been no disclaimer of the fact of the stolen 
meetings in the moonlight. 

Constance’s triumph almost betrayed itself in her face 
as she talked on easily to Kit. She, of course, noticed 
nothing strange in the girl’s pale face and quivering 
limbs — now that the reaction had come, Kit looked as 
though she was going to faint — nor did she appear to 
evince the smallest curiosity as to the cause of Captain 
Montgomery’s sullen manner, in which she differed 
considerably from Chris, 

Kit’s boyish friend stood looking from one to the 
other in a state of mental trouble, amounting to pain, 
in his great, honest heart. 

Something was wrong, very wrong, he knew, but 
what that something was he could not divine. He only 
knew that Kit looked as though she had gone through 
some sudden, sharp illness, and he felt a hot rush of 
anger and doubt toward Maurice as he realized that 
this trouble must be of his making. 

Maurice was not in the least deceived by Constance’s 
manner. He knew that she must have overheard all, 
and though it made him furious for the moment, 
there followed a sort of savage satisfaction afterward 
as he realized the punishment that was in store for Kit. 

He hated Kit in this moment, and yet he had never 
known how much he really cared for her till now. 


244 


LITTLE KIT. 


when his ears were ringing with her loathing and hor- 
ror of him. 

This knowledge only increased his rage and the pas- 
sion of his admiration at the same time. 

His angry eyes met Constance’s once as she laughed 
and chatted on. He seemed to read an offer of alli- 
ance in their clear, cold gaze, and though he disliked 
her cordially just as much as ever, he felt a certain 
contentment in permitting her to ally herself with him 
in this affair. 

No definite plan came into his head in this moment ; 
he was too angry, too savagely disappointed, and his 
vanity was smarting too much for him to do anything 
but nurse his pain. 

By degrees he adopted Constance’s manner, how- 
ever, and joined in her conversation, and after about a 
quarter of an hour he approached Kit to take his de- 
parture. 

“Au revoir , Lady Desmond,” he said, holding out his 
hand, with a faint smile. “ I have already paid you 
too long a visit. You look very tired; it is cruel to 
keep you so late from your rest. I dare say you and 
Miss Marlowe want to have — ” 

Constance broke in quickly : 

“ No. As you say, it is cruel to keep this poor child 
out of her bed ; she looks like a tired white flower. 
You are only a baby, after all, Kit. You ought to go 
to sleep at dusk every night.” She came up to the 
girl and kissed her affectionately. “ I will run in and 
see you to-morrow, dear.” 

Then she turned to Maurice. 

“ If you like to be very nice, you can see me safely 
home, Captain Montgomery,” she said. 

Maurice bowed. 

“ Delighted !” he answered, of course. 


LITTLE KIT. 


245 


And then they passed out of the room, leaving Kit 
standing white, trembling and silent, just as she had 
been when Constance came in. 

She had made great progress in her bearing and 
manner of late, but she had all to learn as yet in the 
art of dissimulation. The shock of the night’s events 
had deprived her of courage and strength, and she be- 
trayed this fact in every line of her face and form. 

Chris accompanied Miss Marlowe and Maurice down 
the stairs. Constance’s laughing, easy manner jarred 
on him, though he waa not skilled enough in the 
world’s knowledge to understand why. All he knew 
was that Kit was in trouble, and Maurice Montgomery 
was the cause of that trouble. 

He clenched his strong fists, and wished suddenly 
he could call on the handsome young soldier to stand 
and give an account of himself ; but he subdued his 
anger as he remembered Sir Philip. 

If any one should have need to defend Kit, that 
defender must be her husband and no one else. 

He watched Constance and Maurice drive away 
together, and the uneasiness and strange, uncomfort- 
able feelings he experienced grew stronger as he went 
slowly up the stairs again. 

He found Kit leaning against the mantel-shelf, her 
face buried on her arms. 

She turned as he came toward her. 

“ Oh, Chris ! Chris, dear !” she said, and there was 
a cry of deepest pain in her voice. 

Chris took her slender form into his arms. He 
smoothed her hair softly with his big, rough hand, and 
held her close to his honest, loving heart. His voice 
was not very clear, and he could not see very dis- 
tinctly. 

There was a pain in his heart which Kit would never 


246 


LITTLE KIT. 


know of. It was his own secret, and he could share it 
with no one. But with this sorrow and with the other 
pain called up by her distress there ran a great joy in 
that she clung to his friendship and found a comfort in 
his presence. 

He asked her no questions, although he longed to 
know what had happened, so that he might help her all 
he could. But Chris’s nature was full of the truest 
sympathy. He might be rough, boyish, and unpol- 
ished, but his sympathy was exquisite, delicate in the 
fullest sense of the word, and touched with a tact which 
one would have imagined almost incompatible with his 
youth and ignorance. 

Kit rested in his arms, her face on his shoulder. She 
was trembling still from her fear — from the horror 
with which Maurice’s words and manner had inspired 
her. It was a joy to feel herself safe with such a dear, 
reliable friend. 

They stood for a few moments in silence, and then 
Chris spoke. 

“You must go to bed, Kit. You’re just as jolly- 
looking as a good-sized ghost, and I don’t know what 
Sir Philip will say when he sees you.” 

Kit started. She had meant to sit up for her hus- 
band ; but all at once she realized she could not meet 
him to-night and let him read the change in her face. 
The story she had to tell him was one that would give 
him deep grief; for she knew he had loved Maurice 
almost as his own child, and this story of the young 
man’s dishonor and falseness would touch him to the 
quick. 

He would come home happy and excited from the 
political meeting* She could not speak the words she 
must speak at such a moment. She felt now that she 
had been wrong to remain silent all this time. 


LITTLE KIT. 


247 


Things had grown to that shape which she had never 
imagined in her innocence. She had thought to bury 
the secret of Maurice’s cruelty to herself in her heart 
of heart ; to let no one have the faintest knowledge of 
it; but she reckoned without Maurice, and his own 
hand had forced her to expose him and to give deep 
sorrow to the man she loved better than her life. 

She hated the thought of the morrow, of the moment 
when she must give this pain to her honorable, noble 
husband ; but she had no alternative. Her own pride 
demanded she should speak, and as she said good-night 
to Chris and went slowly and sadly up to her room, she 
determined that Philip must know all before another 
day had gone. 

Alas ! poor little Kit ! She knew not what that day 
would bring forth. 


248 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Early the next morning Sir Philip was awakened 
by his valet. He had come home very late from the 
meeting the night before, and finding Kit asleep had 
refrained even from kissing her for fear of waking her, 
and slept in his dressing room for the same reason. 

His man apologized for disturbing him so early, but 
explained that the messenger had come from his old and 
well-loved friend, Mrs. Montgomery, Maurice’s mother, 
entreating him to go to her without delay. 

She had been seized with a serious attack of an ill- 
ness from which she had suffered for years, and which 
it was feared must one day have a fatal termination. 

Sir Philip sprang up without delay, first sending a 
word to announce his immediate acquiescence with his 
old friend’s request. 

He bathed and dressed very quietly. He did not 
wish lo arouse Kit ; but just as he was scribbling her 
a few lines to explain his absence and bidding his 
darling not worry, there came a tap at his door, and Kit 
stood before him. 

The girl’s face was very pale. She had lain awake 
for hours, wondering in what way she could best soften 
the blow she had to deal. She had missed him from 
her room, and the evidence of tps exquisite, gentle 
thoughtfulness in his having refrained from disturbing 
her was but an additional pang. 

Now and then the thought came to her : Could she 
not still spare him the knowledge of Maurice’s treach- 


LITTLE KIT. 


249 


ery ? What if she were to see Maurice alone, speak to 
him gently but plainly, try to bring home the wrong 
to him, and then touch him by recalling the friendship 
and love Philip Desmond had always lavished upon 
him, and having won from him the respect which was 
due to her, first for herself and then for Philip’s wife, 
make a compact of silence and forgetfulness between 
them ? 

All this came into her mind, and for a time gave 
her a little comfort, and then she reflected upon it. 
She would have no more silence with Philip. She had 
been silent too long. He must know all without delay ; 
and she shivered as she recalled Maurice’s angry, pas- 
sionate face and wicked words, and realized what folly 
it would be to trust to this man’s honor and loyalty. 

Her heart was very heavy and sad. The thought of 
poor, trusting, loving Sibyl came to swell all the other 
unhappiness. 

How was she to act in the future toward the girl 
who had given her such tender friendship ? How could 
she explain the strange conduct which she must adopt ? 

These and a dozen other questions crowded her 
mind and buzzed in her brain till morning came at 
last, and with a sigh of relief that was tinged with sad- 
ness she realized that she could carry all to Philip and 
rest at peace in his love and wise care. 

She had slipped on a pale-blue silk wrap, and her 
hair was hanging loosely about her shoulders. Philip 
gave an exclamation as she stood in the doorway. 

“ My little angel !” he said, taking her in his arms 
and kissing her lips. “ My little, sleepy angel, who 
was so tired out she had to go to bed before her hero 
returned triumphant from his victory !” and then he 
noticed her tired, pale look. “You are not ill, my 
darling ?” he asked, quickly. 


250 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ I have a headache," Kit answered, most truthfully, 
and then a little color stole for an instant into her 
cheeks. “ Are — are you going out so soon, Philip ?” 

His face grew grave in the delight of seeing her — he 
had for the moment forgotten his sad errand. He ex- 
plained the cause of his early departure in a few words. 

“ I am afraid it will go very badly with poor Mrs. 
Montgomery this time,” he said. “ The last attack she 
had nearly killed her. She is not as young as she was, 
and the heart’s action is terribly strained each time 
these attacks come ; besides, I can see she is worse 
than usual, or she would not have sent for me. Poor 
creature ! she has no wish to live except for the love 
she bears her son. She adores Maurice, and he has 
been a good son on the whole. This will be a blow to 
him. I can only hope things will not be so bad as I 
fear they are.” 

And then Philip picked up the girl in his arms. 

“ Now I am going to put my baby to bed, and she is 
not to stir from there for the next few hours, under pain 
of my most terrible wrath, and it will be terrible, I can 
assure you, my lady, if I find you have disobeyed 
me.” 

He settled her as cozily as a woman would have done, 
and smoothed away the hair from her hot brow, kissing 
her beautiful, tired eyes. 

“There has been a little too much romping with 
Master Chris, I fancy,” he said, smiling down at her 
before he took his departure. 

Kit lay very silent. Her heart was full of trouble. 
How could it be possible for her to speak out all she 
must say at such a moment ? How tell her husband 
of Maurice’s treachery and falseness, when the mother 
lay, perhaps, at the point of death ? 

As Philip was leaving her she spoke. 


LITTLE KIT. 


251 


“ You will let me know — ” she said, with a hesita- 
tion in her voice. 

“ I shall return to you if all goes well ; if not, I will 
stay ; but I will send you word, my darling. I am 
sorry to leave you this morning, but I know you under- 
stand. She is one of my oldest friends, and Maurice 
will — ” 

Kit answered him hurriedly : 

“ Oh, go ! go ! dearest ; of course I understand. I 
only hope you will find things not so bad.” 

He came back to kiss her once again and then went 
away, leaving her in a state of greater anxiety and 
trouble than before. Her lips were sealed. 

She could not open her heart to him and get solace 
and courage from him as she had hoped. 

The thought of the dying woman gave her a sharp 
pain. She had never seen Maurice’s mother, but she 
seemed to know her well by hearing of her so often 
from Sibyl and from Philip. 

The proud love of the invalid mother for her soldier 
son had been one of Sibyl’s favorite themes when 
speaking of her betrothed or her husband. 

It argued to Kit that, after all, there must be some 
good in the man's selfish, cruel nature when two such 
women as his wife and his mother could give him such 
love and have such pride 1 in him. 

She herself had not found the good. She had come 
across nothing but evil. Still, she could not bring 
herself to believe that any human creature could be 
utterly devoid of good, and she could not help hoping 
that this illness of his mother might do much to bring 
Maurice to his right senses. 

If only he would give her some evidence of this, if 
he would let her understand that the past was dead, 
that he was sorry and ashamed of what he had done, 


252 


LITTLE KIT. 


and that he would show his contrition by honoring 
and respecting her as a woman who had from first to 
last been innocent and blameless as a child, and whose 
love for her husband was something that would give 
him joy instead of anger. If only he would do this, 
then the compact of silence might exist, and Philip 
might be spared. But how could she even hope for 
such a thing when the man had given her evidences 
of such a wicked, unprincipled nature? 

Kit lay for two hours thinking and thinking. Her 
headache grew no better. Constance Marlowe had 
called, but Sir Philip had left strict orders that her 
ladyship was not to be disturbed till she rang her bell ; 
so Miss Marlowe was disappointed in not seeing her 
cousin. 

She concealed her disappointment admirably, judg- 
ing from the smile that curled her lips as she drove 
away from the house. 

The news of Mrs. Montgomery’s dangerous illness 
was most satisfactory to Constance. It argued that 
Kit could have said nothing to her husband of the 
scene that had occurred the night previously. 

That had been the one danger Constance had appre- 
hended as she had gone away from the house with 
Maurice. 

She had been a little angry at Maurice, and was in- 
clined to call him a fool. Why, having such a weapon 
in his hands, should he have forgotten his tact and 
common sense so far as to have used it so badly that 
he had scared the girl out of her senses, and so, in all 
probability, destroyed its value ? 

“ Sir Philip will have a pleasant marital confidence 
when he returns to-night,” she had said, laughing 
slightly, as Maurice and she drove toward Lady Sin- 
clair’s house, 


LITTLE KIT. 


253 


Maurice had started. 

“ You think she will tell Desmond all ? ” he said, hur- 
riedly, immediately accepting the veiled information 
conveyed in Constance’s speech that she was an courant 
with all the events. 

Constance had laughed again. 

“ She will tell him enough ‘ all’ to save herself. Put 
the blame on you, of course.” 

Maurice had been silent for a moment. Bad as he 
was, angry, hurt, embittered as Kit had made him, a 
small remnant of manhood remained to him. He felt 
bound to speak in her defense. 

“ You misjudge Lady Desmond,” he had said, coldly. 
“ If she speaks at all she will speak fairly.” 

Constance had been furious with him. Why was it 
that Kit had such a hold on every one ? Even this 
man would not traduce her as he might have done. 

“I must confess,” she had replied, “that I do not ab- 
solutely admire the reticence displayed by my cousin 
in this manner ; neither, I fancy, will her husband 
when he learns what I chanced to overhear to-night. 
It was not the prettiest story in the world.” 

“ It is regrettable that chance should have been so 
favorable to you,” Maurice had sneered, all his old dis- 
like for this woman coming back to him. 

Constance had expressed no annoyance at his sneer. 

“ Don’t you think you are very stupid to quarrel 
with me ? Remember, I know all now, and can either 
be very disagreeable in the future or ” — she paused a 
moment — “ very useful. I know enough of human 
nature to be quite sure you will not always cherish 
such laudable feelings toward Lady Desmond. She 
may be an angel, but she has spurned and insulted 
you. You will look for some revenge some day, and 
you will get it easily, since she is in your power. You 


254 


LITTLE KIT. 


have never cared for Philip Desmond, and you will 
not be sorry to do him a bad turn. Oh, I know it is 
not usual to speak out so plainly, but I don’t see much 
use in dealing hypocritically with things between us 
two. You have your object to achieve, I have mine. 
I have a grudge against Philip Desmond. I shall pay 
it. I hate his wife !” There was a sudden fierceness 
in the usually soft voice. “ She has robbed me of that 
which I desired. I will be paid to the bitterest limit. 
I don’t expect this is news to you. I fancy there is 
enough of the same stuff in us to let you understand 
the sort of woman I am. Up to to-night, I own, I had 
very little chance of finding my revenge, but now — ” 
Constance had laughed — “ now — it is so near and looks 
so big I am almost amazed at my success.” 

Maurice had listened in moody silence. Her mali- 
cious candor disgusted him, the more so because he 
knew she was right, and that, as she said, the same 
spirit as hers was in his nature. 

For an instant the thought of his gentle, suffering 
mother, whom he had really loved ; of Sibyl, his trust- 
ing wife ; of Kit’s proud dignity and outraged woman- 
liness, made him rebel against the things Constance 
said ; but his good resolutions and feelings were only 
transient. 

She only said what was true, after all, if she had a 
very unpleasant, frank way of saying it, and it was al- 
most like a consolation to find some one who had a 
grievance like his own. 

Before they parted Constance had carefully im- 
pressed caution on him. 

“ If she tells Philip all to-night, of course it will rob 
our revenge of a great deal of its value ; but if she 
says nothing, which I could stake a good deal on will 
be the case, the future is ours.” 


LITTLE KIT. 


255 


“ And what then ?” Maurice had asked, in the moody 
tone that had become habitual with him of late. 
“ What then ?” 

“ Wait and see, mon ami," returned Constance, as he 
assisted her to alight from the cab, the light of the 
nearest lamp falling on her sweet, madonna-like face, 
with its gentle expression so absolutely at variance 
with the sentiments she was uttering. “ If we can pay 
off old scores, let us be content. I want only to make 
her suffer as she made me, and I shall do it. I am not 
a coward ; when I make up my mind to do a thing, I do 
it, as a rule. Good night — au revolt !" 

And so they had parted, with no further agreement 
between them than that Maurice was to do nothing, 
but to wait until Constance gave him the sign to act. 

Miss Marlowe drove to the Desmonds’ house the 
morning after this interview, feeling a little anxious 
and excited. She told herself she should know at once 
by Kit’s face if things were beginning to go wrong, 
and Philip would most certainly have expressed him- 
self freely if he had been told the story she had over- 
heard outside the boudoir door. 

The butler gave her the news of Mrs. Montgomery’s 
illness, and explained why Kit could not see her. 

“ I am so sorry her ladyship is ill,” Constance had 
said, in her gentle way. “ She looked very tired last 
night when I left. Perhaps she sat up too late for Sir 
Philip ?” 

“ My lady did not wait up for Sir Philip, miss,” the 
butler observed. “ She went to her room immediately 
after you and Captain Montgomery had driven away. 
Shall I give her any message ?” 

Constance paused only a moment. 

“ Tell her I will run in and see how she is later in 
the day. My love, of course, and that I am so sorry.” 


256 


LITTLE KIT. 


There was such an air of content and yet of ex- 
citement on Miss Marlowe’s beautiful face, as she 
drove through the dull, cold streets beside Lady Sin- 
clair, that her friend could not help remarking on it. 

“ How well you look, Constie !” she said, almost fret- 
fully. “ So bright and good-tempered! I don’t believe 
you feel the cold a bit, or the fog either. What are you 
thinking about — it must be something very pleasant ?” 

“ It is,” Miss Marlowe answered, with a smile ; but 
she vouchsafed no explanation of her radiant appear- 
ance beyond these two words. 

Lady Sinclair wrapped herself more closely in her 
furs and shivered ; she was a sybarite, and hated the 
cold as much as a cat hates rain ; but she was much 
pleased to see Constance looking like her old self. 

“ She has got over the Philip business — a good thing, 
too ; I was afraid it was going to spoil her life. Dear 
me, how could Philip act so strangely to pass her over 
for that red-haired little child of a thing ; and what 
people can see in her to rave about, I don’t know. Con- 
stance is far prettier ; she looks lovely to-day. I won- 
der if she is turning her mind to Hector Greaves, poor 
fellow ! I do hope so ; he adores her ; he has heaps of 
money ; it would be a splendid marriage. Of course, 
he is not a man like Philip, but, then, where can one 
find another Philip ? But he stands a very good chance 
of being Earl of Mountchester, and that is better than 
a simple baronet’s -wife. I sincerely hope that is the 
pleasant thing she seems to be thinking about.” 

Pretty, hot-tempered, erratic, self-willed, but honor- 
able, loyal, honest and true little Lady Sinclair, how 
she would have shrunk from the touch of this lovely, 
smiling, gentle-faced woman could she have opened 
Constance Marlowe’s heart, and read what was written 
there ! 


LITTLE KIT. 


257 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Maurice Montgomery's mother died on the night of 
the day on which she had summoned her old friend, 
Sir Philip Desmond, in such haste. Her death was a 
great grief to Kit's husband. He did not return to his 
house till the last had happened, and when he did 
come he met Kit in silence, and, going to his study, sat 
down by his table and leaned his head on his hand. 

It hurt Kit to see him so worn and pale. She, too, 
was looking unlike her usual radiant self ; the head- 
ache still lived in her brow, and the doubt and cease- 
less worry in her heart. Now all was determined for 
her. It was quite out of the question to speak of the 
trouble she felt, and she must call up all the courage 
she had ever possessed and face the future. The part 
she shrank from was the meeting with Maurice. To 
have to take his hand, to greet him in her house, 
knowing the treachery and sin in his heart toward her, 
toward Philip and toward his young wife ! It seemed 
to her in the first moment almost more than she could 
do ; and yet she must do it, if she would avoid remark 
and not give her husband more cause of trouble than 
he had now. One thing seemed to her almost certain. 
After such a grief, Maurice Montgomery’s mind, even 
his nature, must have gone through a change and a 
purification. It was her one comfort, and she was 
grateful even for the mere thought. 

“ You will write a few words to Maurice ? Poor boy, 
he is dreadfully cut up,” Philip said, after awhile. 


258 


LITTLE KIT. 


Kit stood silent, then said, in a low voice : 

“ I will write to Sibyl. I am sure she will grieve 
deeply.” 

No more was said, and Maurice’s name was not again 
mentioned at that time. During the week that fol- 
lowed Kit saw very little of her husband, comparatively 
speaking. He was left trustee to Mrs. Montgomery’s 
will, and had to attend to a great deal of business mat- 
ters connected with the dead woman’s affairs. As if 
to make the poor child’s burden of thought a little 
heavier, she was quick to notice that all Philip’s old af- 
fection for Maurice seemed to be strengthened and 
deepened by the loss that had come to the young 
man. 

Kit and Sibyl met only once. It was Kit’s fault they 
were not more together. She knew Sibyl delighted in 
her companionship, but her delicate, proud mind shrank 
from this. It was torture to her to be with Sibyl and 
listen to her innocent words of love and pity for the 
husband who was so false to her. Social hypocrisy 
was the hardest lesson in the world for a nature like 
Kit’s to learn. If she did not see much of Sibyl, how- 
ever, she had a visit from Constance every day, and 
Kit could not help but feel grateful to her cousin for 
many a graceful, gentle act which seemed to proclaim 
a sincere affection at every turn. 

Not a word was spoken by Constance about that 
eventful evening when she had made so unexpected 
an appearance, and Kit did not imagine for a single 
instant that Constance had remarked anything strange. 

Miss Marlowe often laughed contemptuously to her- 
self when she was alone in recalling this fact. 

“What a fool!” she would muse. “She actually 
oelieves I saw nothing strange or unusual. Why, her 
white face and awkward manner would have con- 


LITTLE KIT. 


259 


demned her absolutely, even if I had not heard what I 
did hear !” 

But, naturally, Constance did not intend to let this 
impression be destroyed. She was a true Judas, and 
she would betray with a kiss when the time came. 

Everything was shaping well with her plans ; she 
had only one annoyance, and that was the persistent 
presence of Chris Hornton. She knew that if she de- 
ceived Kit, she certainly did not deceive this boy, 
whom she had always disliked, and she had an uneasy 
feeling sometimes that Chris was watching her, and 
would be ready by some means to circumvent her plans 
at the last. 

She little realized the actual trouble she was to 
Chris. He would have liked to have taken her, neck 
and crop, and have flung her Madonna-like prettiness 
into the street. He hated to see her with Kit. 

“I know she is a bad lot through and through ; she 
never did care for Kit, and now she hates her like 
poison. I wish Sir Philip would send her about her 
business, and I wish — oh, I do wish Kit would put a 
little confidence in me and let me know what’s wrong ! 
I can’t bear to see her like she is now !” 

Whenever Chris suggested going home, both Kit 
and Sir Philip vetoed the idea immediately. 

“ I want you to come down to Courtfield for Christ- 
mas. Philip has quite made up his mind you are com- 
ing and I know you don’t want to go home. Oh, don’t 
mutter things about your mother !” Kit cried, with a 
momentary flash of her old self. “ It does not go down 
with me and then she smiled at him with the faint 
smile that did not seem as if it belonged to her. “But 
I must not bully you, Chris. Perhaps Lady Hornton 
will be hurt.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Chris answered; and he felt a 


260 


LITTLE KIT. 


great relief when he had taken this resolution. He had 
a strange sort of sensation that he should be able to 
give her the help he so much desired during this so- 
journ at Philip Desmond’s country house. 

Kit grew almost bright and happy again as Decem- 
ber advanced and the time drew near for them to leave 
town. Sir Philip had begun to notice her pale cheeks 
and to worry about them, and it was a great delight to 
him to see the girl fling off her lassitude and quietness, 
which did not seem natural to her. 

“We will have a quiet, happy party,” he said a day 
or so before he arranged for their departure. “Dear 
old Lady Milborough and my old chum, Fairbourne, 
who has fallen in love with you, Hornton, and Miss 
Marlowe” — Philip had by no means forgiven Con- 
stance, but he had allowed himself to receive her and 
to permit her to be intimate with Kit out of his great 
kindness of heart, and because he thought it was a 
pleasure to Kit to be friendly with her cousin — “ and 
Sibyl and Maurice.” 

Kit, who was writing letters as he spoke, stopped 
suddenly, and her heart was contracted. 

“Sibyl and Maurice!” she repeated, in a quick, 
nervous way. “ Are — are they coming ?” 

Philip looked at her in some surprise. 

“ Certainly. What a strange question for my little 
one to ask ! Why, I thought, of course, you had ar- 
ranged everything with Sibyl ; at any rate, Maurice 
took it as a foregone conclusion when I spoke about it 
to him yesterday. I have always spent Christmas with 
the Montgomerys when it was possible. What should 
have put such an idea into my beauty’s mind, I 
wonder?” 

Philip came behind the slender, black-robed figure 
and bent to kiss the mass of magnificent hair. 


LITTLE KIT. 


261 


Kit laughed a little hurriedly. 

“It was stupid of me,” she said, trying to speak as 
naturally as she could. “ I don’t think I quite knew 
what I was saying ; I was deep in my letter.” 

Philip stroked her face gently. 

“ I shall be glad to carry my little one away from this 
smoky London. You are a wild-flower at heart, 
my Kit, and love your country, although you have 
grown such a stately young queen, and are so magnifi- 
cent that you sometimes make me a little afraid cf 
you. The Duchess of Oban does nothing but talk 
about the stateliness of my young wife. Are you 
pleased with your success, my kitten ?” 

Kit drew his hands to her lips. 

“ If I please you always I am content. I want noth- 
ing more.” 

Philip bent over and kissed her tenderly. 

“Well, now, I must be off; and, by the way, Kit, if 
you have not already written to Sibyl, send her a line 
to-day and suggest that she should travel down with 
you on Wednesday. I caught a glimpse of her yester- 
day, and I was sorry to see her looking far from well. 
Perhaps it is that mourning is unbecoming to her, but 
certainly she is not as pretty as she was back in the sum- 
mer. You think they are happy, do you not, my darling ? 
You remember a little while ago you said some- 
thing — ” 

“ Oh, they must be happy,” Kit cried, in a hurry. 
“ How could any man fail to be happy with such a wife 
as Sibyl ? She is an angel.” 

“ On the testimony of another angel I accept that 
statement as absolutely true.” Philip laughed, and 
was passing out, when he looked back. “Were you 
thinking that Maurice would object to any gayety this 
Christmas ? Well, we shall be very quiet, and you had 


262 


LITTLE KIT. 


better tell Sibyl so. A little, quiet party will do him 
good ; he is very depressed and gloomy. I am sure 
Anne Montgomery would have been the first to desire 
her beloved son should not bury himself in his grief 
too much. I honor him for his sorrow, but he is young, 
and too much gloom is bad for him and for his wife. 
We must cheer him up, you and I.” 

Kit said nothing, only sat very still, as her husband 
left. Her one source of delight in leaving town had 
been the thought that she would be away from the 
presence of Maurice, and that, down in the quiet, fresh 
country air, she would be able to calm her mind and 
devise a plan for the best. 

The perpetual silence and secrecy with Philip was 
becoming a torture to her, and she was sensible that 
the longer this continued, the more difficult the posi- 
tion would be when the moment came for speaking. 

Kit had had vague thoughts of a future day or hour 
down at Courtfield in which, in gentle, tender tones, 
she could lay bare the trouble to Philip. She did not 
quite know how this would be managed, but she relied 
on her womanliness to suggest a way by which she 
could let the truth be known to her husband without 
giving him the pain she so much feared. 

And now even this vague hope was snatched from 
her. Kit sat leaning her head on her hand for a long 
time. Her heart felt very heavy and sad, and contrary 
to the gentleness of her nature, a great bitterness rose 
up against Maurice Montgomery. 

What wrong had she ever done him that he should 
have worked her such harm in her life ? Was it not 
enough that he had done his best to wreck her young 
heart, to destroy her pure young illusions, to tear the 
veil of dreamland from her eyes, and show her the hid- 
eousness of life in its hardest, most cruel form, but he 


LITTLE KIT. 


263 


must needs carry his warfare into her present happi- 
ness, and embitter her love by his treachery and wrong- 
doing ? 

The girl felt hampered at every step. She thought 
so much and so deeply on the subject that she was 
afraid of betraying herself to Philip in some unguarded 
moment as she had just done. 

There was no one to whom she could go for comfort 
and advice. Had it been any other trouble she would 
have flown to Sibyl at the very first, sure of infinite 
sympathy and perhaps of consolation. 

But this phantom of Maurice was rising between 
Sibyl and herself, threatening to sever their friendship 
altogether. 

Constance she shrank from as a confidant ; not that 
she doubted her — in fact, Kit was being drawn con- 
siderably closer to her cousin (wooed by Constance’s 
sweet words and manner) ; but, after all, although they 
were cousins, they were comparative strangers, and the 
confidence she had to make was not a light one. 

Sometimes the thought of Lady Milborough came, 
but Kit did not encourage it ; the old lady was clever 
and wonderfully bright, but she was not too strong, 
and anything that concerned Philip touched her very 
closely. 

There only remained Chris, but Kit had grown to 
regard her old playmate as a big boy, and the idea of 
finding strength, protection and wisdom from him never 
came to her. 

Of all people in the world there was none who could 
give her comfort and advice like Philip, and Philip was 
the one person to whom she must not go. 

She sighed very wearily, and the transient brightness 
called up by the pleasure of going to Courtfield faded 
out of her eyes and cheeks. 


264 


LITTLE KIT. 


On the day of their departure Constance Marlowe 
joined her cousin at the station. She had elected to 
travel down with Lady Desmond. 

She had incurred a little natural indignation and jeal- 
ousy on the part of her stanch friend, Lena Sinclair, 
who had expected Constance to spend Christmas with 
her, having stoutly refused to join the Courtfield 
party. 

Constance was very sweet but very firm ; she felt her 
heart beat high at the thought of the sojourn under the 
roof of the country house, with all the figures necessary 
to the drama she intended to see played close to her 
hand. 

The Montgomerys were to follow later ; but Chris, 
true to his resolution to be beside Kit on all occasions, 
appeared at the door of the special coach engaged for 
the conveyance of Sir Philip Desmond and party. 

Constance always frowned when she met Chris 
Hornton’s steady gaze ; but, after all, she could afford 
to laugh at the boy. 

“As if one need mind him !” she said to herself, as 
she unfolded a newspaper and glanced covertly at Kit 
from behind its folds. 

Philip was fussing tenderly about his young wife, 
who leaned back, pale and beautiful in her rich furs, 
but wearing a worn, strained look in her eyes, which 
gave Philip much anxiety. 

“ Surely she must lose these perpetual headaches 
once she is out of this fog and gloom,” he thought to 
himself; and then, as Kit closed her beautiful, luminous 
eyes, he drew near to Constance, who was at the oppo- 
site side of the coach, and sat down beside her. 

It was almost the first time he had voluntarily ap- 
proached her. He was always courteous, and few 
people could have noticed the slightest difference in 


LITTLE KIT. 


265 


his manner when he usually addressed Miss Marlowe ; 
but Constance had often winced at his voice and at the 
look in his eyes when they met hers, and she was con- 
siderably astonished when he came toward her now 
and began speaking confidentially. 

The subject of his conversation was the one thought 
in his mind — his wife ! 

“ I am anxious about Kit,” he said to Constance, and 
his face bore witness to his words. “ I want to ask 
you a little about her childhood, Miss Marlowe. I beg 
you will be frank with me on the subject. I am sure 
you must see with me that she is far from well ; she 
looks now pale and thin, as though she had been through 
some illness. It will be a great assistance to me if you 
can tell me if she was delicate as a child, and how and 
in what way. She has changed in the last few weeks, 
and — ” 

Constance glanced across at the graceful form with 
closed eyes. Her hatred flamed up stronger than ever 
against the girl, as she caught the burden of love and 
anxiety in Philip’s voice ; but she was very quiet, very 
gentle, but a little sad, as she answered : 

“Yes, of course, I do see what you mean, Sir Philip. 
To tell you the truth, I have noticed, as you say, a 
gradual change in Kit during the last few weeks, and it 
has puzzled me a great deal, for I scarcely remember 
Kit being ill once during the past. She was always 
what I should call robust and very healthy, and, as you 
know yourself, she ran about in and out of doors in all 
weather. I was the delicate one,” Constance said, with 
a faint smile. 

She was silent a moment, thinking how best to frame 
the dart she meant to give. 

“ I expect you will soon find the country air will do 
her good, and she will be herself again. The fogs 


266 


LITTLE KIT. 


lately have been so trying. Unless," Constance paused 
effectively. 

“ Unless ?" Sir Philip repeated. 

“ Unless," Constance laughed in an apologetic way — 
“ well, really, I was going to make a very absurd re- 
mark — something very foolish. I was going to say 
the country will soon set Kit up again, unless, of course, 
her illness is mental, not physical. I confess I have 
been tempted to think once or twice that she looked 
exactly like a person who was being worried about 
something or other, as if she had something on her 
mind ; but, of course, the very idea is too ridiculous. 
What could Kit have on her mind ? She has not a care 
in the world. Depend upon it, Sir Philip, it is the work 
of the demon fog, and in a day or so you will have your 
little wife as bright as ever she was !" 

Philip smiled and left her with some pleasant word, 
and Constance sat back and read her paper and watched 
him. 

“ That went home straight," she said to herself, ex- 
ultantly, and the first joy of her revenge thrilled her 
heart. 

Philip’s smile did not deceive her in the least, and as 
she saw him sit silent and still, his eyes fixed on his 
wife’s changed face, she knew that the first drop of 
poisonous doubt had been instilled into his mind. 

The rest would be easy work. 


LITTLE KIT. 


267 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Philip Desmond thought deeply and long over that 
speech of Constance Marlowe’s. It was wonderful what 
power there seemed to be in it, and what a variety of 
small explanations was conveyed in it. 

“ Something on her mind! Something on her mind!” 

The words rang in his head and danced before his 
eyes. “ Something on her mind !” On the mind of his 
wife, his child love, his beloved ! 

His own mind was tortured by the thoughts that 
came to it so quickly. At one moment a hot anger, a 
sudden, an unexpected jealousy flashed through it ; 
then as suddenly a tenderness. 

He went into his smoking-room as soon as he ar- 
rived at Courtfield and began pacing up and down 
slowly. 

Constance might well congratulate herself on her 
first coup ; it had been subtle, but sure — it was a mas- 
terpiece. She had not imagined it would have so good 
an effect. 

He thought and thought for a long time, and then 
he all at once lit a cigar, and as the fumes of his favor- 
ite weed floated about him he grew soothed, and his 
thoughts became softer and pleasanter. 

“ What a fool I am ! As if my little one could have 
anything to worry her ! Why, she comes to me if she 
has a pin scratch, and must needs let me kiss the place 
to make it well. Trouble — worry ! Bah ! It is the 
fog and too many late hours.” 


268 


LITTLE KIT. 


He smoked on until his cigar was finished, and, as he 
threw away the end, he felt considerably better. 

“All the same, I shall see into this matter. Perhaps 
there is some small thing which is troubling the child, 
and she does not like to bring it to me. I must coax 
it out of her if I find this to be the case.” 

He popped his head into Kit’s room as he went to 
dress for dinner. 

“ How does my little one like her new home, I won- 
der ?” he asked, in a light way. 

Kit ran toward him like a child. 

“ Where have you been ?” she asked, as he took her 
into his arms. “ I wanted to make my first tour with 
you, Philip. Oh ! I love Courtfield ! What a dear old 
place ! I feel like a queen here. Just fancy all this be- 
longing to me. I don’t think I shall care to live in Lon- 
don any more. This will be the most delightful home, 
although Chris says there must be a ghost, of course — ” 

“I ’ll ghost Master Chris when I see him,” Philip 
laughed. 

She was so bright in this moment. All his thoughts 
and doubts floated away into thin air. 

He held her back and looked at her carefully. 

“ And how is the headache, eh ? Gone ?” 

“ Quite gone,” Kit answered with a smile. 

She did, indeed, feel better. The fresh country air, 
cold as it was, with a touch of keen frost in it, had al- 
ready invigorated her. The excitement and pleasure 
of entering her husband’s old home, where he had been 
born and had lived all his young days, drove away for 
a time the burden of her secret trouble. 

She had flitted all over the house in company with 
Chris, and had won hearty admiration from the serv- 
ants gathered together to welcome their master and 
mistress. 


LITTLE KIT. 


269 


The fresh, breezy atmosphere, the clear shy, the big 
house, seemed to give her courage and strength ; and 
so it was that she threw off her lassitude and silence, 
and gladdened Philip’s eyes by her return to her old 
self. 

Even when he showed her a telegram from Maurice, 
stating the hour he and Sibyl would arrive, Kit did not 
relapse into her anxiety. Out of the chaos of her 
troubled thought, one idea had come — a determination. 

She would speak frankly and openly to Maurice ; she 
would show him the painfulness of the position he had 
so wrongly, so ungenerously forced upon her, and she 
would tell him straightforwardly that unless he under- 
took to forget the past and all that had happened — as 
she would try to do — she must put everything before 
Philip, and despite the sorrow that must be given him 
and Sibyl, the whole truth would be told, and the mat- 
ter settled finally and forever. 

Yes, the more she thought over this, the more deter- 
mined she was to do it. 

She would ask a duty of Maurice ; moreover, she 
would suggest that for a time, until memory had healed 
the wound he had inflicted, he should manage so that 
he did not come into her life so frequently as he was 
now doing. 

“ I am sure there is good in him — yes, I am sure of 
it,” the poor child thought to herself, as she stood be- 
fore her glass, and her maid put the finishing touches 
to her black dinner dress. “ And when I put every- 
thiny before him clearly, I think he will be true to that 
good in him. He must know that there can be noth- 
ing but suffering for Sibyl and for Philip if he contin- 
ues to do as he is doing.” 

The comfort derived from this thought was in her 
face as she descended the wide staircase— a glorious 


270 


LITTLE KIT. 


vision of beauty in her black velvet trailing skirt, with 
diamonds crowning her ruddy gold hair and gleaming 
from about her bodice. 

Chris, who was standing in the hall, made a mock 
salaam as she approached. 

“ Hail, Queen of the Zulus !” he cried, and then he 
slouched forward with his big, awkward figure, and 
disclosed his tie hanging in two long strings. 

“ Please finish me off,” he said. 

Kit put down her fan and gloves, and standing on 
the lowest step of the stairs, performed her usual task 
of fastening his tie. Maurice came down the stairs at 
this very moment. Sibyl and he had arrived while the 
rest were dressing for dinner. 

“ How good you are to your friends, Lady Des- 
mond !” he said in a light, laughing fashion. 

Kit colored a little as she saw him, but she took great 
heart of grace from the change in his expression. It 
was the first time she had seen him without that heavy, 
moody look which had troubled Philip so much. 

“ Welcome to Courtfield, Captain Montgomery,” she 
said, with the pretty assumption of dignity that yet sat 
shyly upon her. “ I hope you are not very cold and 
that Sibyl is not tired ?’” 

“ We are more than comfortable, I assure you, Lady 
Desmond.” Then Maurice glanced at the tie. “ Al- 
low me to congratulate you on your talent. I had no 
idea you were so clever.” 

“ Years of practice on Chris has brought me to this 
perfection.” Kit smiled at her old playfellow, who 
was looking at Maurice keenly, though Captain Mont- 
gomery was not aware of the scrutiny. “ How many 
times I wonder, Chris, have I made you respectable for 
society ?” 

“ My memory is bad,” Chris said ; and he lounged off 


LITTLE KIT. 


271 


toward the farthest end of the hall, while Maurice 
walked with Kit up to the fireplace, where a huge fire 
was blazing in the wide, old-fashioned grate. 

“ You are ungrateful !” Kit had called laughingly 
after Chris, and Maurice had answered in a low voice 
that was not quite steady : 

“ And you are an angel to your friends !” 

The girl stood silent a moment. The firelight danced 
and gleamed on her graceful figure, touching her deli- 
cate throat and arms, and striking an answering fire 
from her diamonds and her eyes. Suddenly she looked 
at him. 

“Why should we not be friends ?” she said, her voice 
eloquent with all that she longed to make him to 
understand. 

Maurice drew a deep breath. A moment before his 
good influences had been at work within him, and had 
worked so well that he had almost become what Kit 
hoped she should find him ; but, at the sight of her 
beauty in the near presence of her young loveliness 
and fascination, these good influences broke away and 
vanished altogether. 

“ Impossible !” was all he said, but that one word car- 
ried a volume of meaning. 

Kit turned pale and trembled a little, but her cour- 
age did not desert her. 

“ Maurice !” she said, quietly, coldly, “ I must speak 
to you. I have something to say to you. Something 
I cannot say now. Will you listen to me ?” 

“ All my life,” he answered, in a dogged way, and 
with a look in his eyes that almost warned her of the 
hopelessness of the task she had set herself. 

Kit laughed a little nervously. 

“ I do not want so long an audience,” she said, with 
that self-contained power and dignity which maddened 


272 


LITTLE KIT. 


him beyond expression. “ I only want half an hour. 
What I have to say will not, in fact, take nearly so long. 
I promise not to bore you.” 

She drew away suddenly from him and from the look 
in his eyes. 

Her heart sank as she asked him casually to fol- 
low her into the drawing-room ; she would make 
her attempt, but she knew for certain she would 
fail. 

“ He will not help me, and it will have to be open 
warfare. My poor Philip and my poor Sibyl !” she 
said to herself. 

Chris, .lounging at the bottom of the hall, suddenly 
called to her : 

“ Can you come here ? I want to speak to you.” 

Kit turned back at once, and Chris put his arm 
through hers and drew her to a corner. 

“ Look here, old girl,” he said, in his rough, boyish 
fashion, “ I want to ask you a great favor.” 

“ It is granted,” Kit replied, without any hesita- 
tion. 

“ Wait till you hear what it is,” Chris said, quietly 
He paused a moment, and then he gave vent to his feel- 
ings. “ Look here !” his favorite expression. “ I know 
you think I am only a boy, and, of course, I am no 
good, but I just want you to know that if I am a boy 
I need not necessarily be a fool, and — ” 

“Chris!” Kit was regarding him with absolute as- 
tonishment. 

Chris lowered his voice considerably. 

“ Look here ! I can see as far through a brick wall 
as most people, and I can see that you are worrying 
yourself into fiddlestrings, and all over something that 
has to do with that stuck-up-chap Montgomery. Now, 
Kit, I am your oldest friend, we’ve stuck to each other 


LITTLE KIT. 


273 


through thick and thin, and this is what I want to say. 
Just chuck this trouble on to my shoulders ; they are 
bigger than yours, and I can meet a man better than 
you.” 

“ Dear Chris !” there were tears in Kit’s eyes. She 
was deeply touched. “ Suppose I say you are right ; 
suppose there is trouble — what — could you do ?” 

“ I could punch his head for him,, ordinarily speak- 
ing ; but,” Chris spoke now with real gravity, “ but I 
know this is not that sort of worry; it’s something 
bigger — you are letting it change all your life. I know 
you won’t mind my saying all this, because we have 
always spoken out our minds to each other, you and I ; 
and so I speak now, and it does me good. Look here, 
Kit, if you won’t let me know what the bother is, for 
Heaven’s sake don’t keep anything from Sir Philip ; 
he is the proper person.” 

“ Oh ! I know — I know,” Kit cried, with a return 
of all the old anxiety, “ and so I would speak, Chris, 
but I can’t ; you don’t understand — you don’t 
know.” 

“ I am sure your husband must be the right person 
to go to in any trouble,” Chris answered, gently, “ and 
I think, perhaps, I do know and do understand better 
than you imagine. Anyhow, I have my own opinion 
about Captain Montgomery, and I call him a black- 
guard and a coward. For two pins I ’d tell him so 
to his face, but I can’t do anything unless you let me 
speak.” 

Kit answered nothing to this, for at that moment 
Sibyl came down the stairs, and she ran to greet her ; 
but there was a distinct feeling of comfort as she 
looked back at Chris’s awkward figure and honest face 
and remembered his stanch friendship. 

The evening passed almost cheerily, and Philip felt 


274 


LITTLE KIT. 


the last remnant of anxiety slip away from him as he 
beheld his darling smiling and happy, with a faint color 
in her cheeks, and the light deepening and shining in 
her glorious eyes. 

“ It is a happy omen for our future and our home,” he 
thought. 

And even while he thought, the shadow was close at 
hand. 


LITTLE KIT. 


275 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Christmas Day came and went. It was passed very 
quietly but very pleasantly on the whole. Kit, kneel- 
ing beside her husband in the old-fashioned church, 
sent up an earnest prayer for guidance and for com- 
fort in the one trial that had come into her great, her 
wonderful happiness. 

Though there were no festivities in the house party, 
Sir Philip determined not to deprive the servants of 
their usual gayety on Boxing Day. The great hall 
was turned for the nonce into a ball-room, and the serv- 
ants flocked thither for their annual dance. 

Kit had to open the ball with the butler, and Sir 
Philip took the plump housekeeper, and the rest of the 
party scattered themselves impartially among the do- 
mestics. 

Nothing more had happened between Kit and Mau- 
rice. There had been no opportunity for the conversa- 
tion she had desired, and, indeed, the girl was begin- 
ning to doubt whether she would follow out this move 
at all. 

Maurice’s easy manner and the return to his old gen- 
ial self gave her a sort of false idea that perhaps there 
would be no need of drastic measures, after all ; and 
yet every now and then, as she caught sight of his eye, 
she felt the hopelessness of this thought. 

But she had determined to crush down all the weak- 
ness that had beset her in the beginning, and she deter- 
mined, moreover, to face the difficulty without flinching. 


2?G 


LITTLE KIT. 


She was very sick at heart sometimes when she saw 
the affection Philip lavished on Maurice, and how her 
husband vrould let his hand rest on the young man’s 
shoulder in a way that spoke of friendship and love. 

The contempt she felt for Maurice deepened and 
grew, and at moments she lashed herself with this 
same scorn. 

“Why did I not tell Philip all ? I am no better than 
that man. I am a traitor to the best and most honor- 
able being in the world !’’ 

Constance watched them narrowly. She was not at 
all pleased with Maurice. Instead of accepting her as 
an ally he avoided her. She felt, now and then, far 
from sure of him, for, after all, there was more good 
in Maurice than there was in her, and she knew that 
he had moments when the best of his manhood arose 
and fought against the wickedness she was so deter- 
mined to see carried out. 

She had said nothing more to Philip since that re- 
mark in the train. She was waiting for the future to 
unfold. 

Once during the servants’ ball the house party danced 
together, and Sir Philip found himself vis-a-vis with 
Kit, he having Constance for a partner, and she dan- 
cing with Maurice. 

Kit was flushed with the excitement, and her eyes 
kept company with her feet. 

“Your prophecy has been fulfilled, Miss Marlowe,” 
Philip said, as they chatted together on trivial things. 
“ Kit looks another creature. I think I shall have to 
renounce the thought of a permanent home in town. It 
is evident it does not agree with my little girl.” 

Constance smiled mechanically. She was looking her 
prettiest. 

“ I wonder you can settle down into domesticity so 


LITTLE KIT. 


277 


easily, Sir Philip. Do you never have a yearning to be 
off on your travels once more ?” 

“ Not since my marriage,” Philip replied, “ although 
I will confess to you, Miss Marlowe, I did have one 
wild longing this very morning. I must enlighten you. 

I had an invitation from ,” mentioning a celebrated 

and most distinguished explorer, “begging me to go 
out and join his new expedition without delay.” 

“ But, of course, you refused ?” Constance said lightly. 

Philip laughed. 

“Well, my letter is not gone yet ; but I don’t think 
it will be necessary to tell you the purport of it. I 
have found my treasure here greater than any I could 
possibly find elsewhere. No, my wanderings are over, 
and I am glad of it.” 

Constance smiled vaguely. She was casting about 
in her mind for something to say to disturb him as 
successfully as she had done the other day. 

As she saw the easy way in which Kit and Maurice 
were talking together, an idea came to her. 

“ So they have made up their quarrel,” she said 
lightly, and with an amused air. “ They are a couple 
of children.” 

“They! Who?” Philip asked in surprise. “A 
quarrel ! What — between Kit and Montgomery? 
Oh, surely, you must be mistaken ! They have not 
quarreled.” 

“ Oh, I see !” Constance laughed. “ They did not 
let you into the secret. I expect they thought you 
would make fun of them. But they did quarrel. Oh, 
yes, I assure you they had quite a fierce battle, though 
I don’t know what the cause was.” 

Philip knit his brows and looked keenly at the two 
opposite. Something — he could not exactly say what 
. — hurt him in a vague, swift yet decided fashion. 


278 


LITTLE KIT. 


Perhaps it was the look in Maurice’s eyes as they 
rested on the beautiful form beside him, or the expres- 
sion on Kit’s face. At once there came a return of the 
doubt and discomfort that had followed on Constance’s 
other speech. 

The dance ended, and he walked with Miss Marlowe 
to find a seat. He was rather silent, but Constance did 
not seem to mind it. She talked on lightly on a variety 
of subjects. And then her eyes flashed ; her breath 
came quick and fast. She had caught a glimpse of 
Maurice walking beside Kit toward the conserva- 
tory.- 

They were going to have an interview. Maurice 
would be won by the girl’s eloquence. He would draw 
back. He would fail her at the last. 

Constance had no trust in Maurice, and her revenge 
had never seemed to her so necessary as now, when it 
might perhaps slip from her. 

She set her teeth. 

“You promised to show me that wonderful African 
plant you brought home on your last expedition, Sir 
Philip. It is here, is it not ?” 

“ In the conservatory,” Philip answered almost me- 
chanically. “ I will take you there if you like, Miss 
Marlowe. It is nothing very marvelous to look at, 
although it is so rare. But that is often the case, is it 
not ?” 

“ Indeed, yes,” Constance answered, with a tinge of 
sadness in her gentle voice. “The most beautiful 
things about us are so often the most worthless. It is 
not a happy thought, Sir Philip, but it is, alas, a true 

. y y 

one. 

“You are too young to be a pessimist,” Philip an- 
swered, though he spoke abstractedly. 

Constance’s words had produced a strange effect on 


LITTLE KIT. 


279 


his mind. At another time the remark she had made 
about a quarrel between Maurice Montgomery and Kit 
would have produced nothing but amusement, but now, 
why or how he could not properly have explained, it 
made him uncomfortable, and produced the same 
trouble and doubt that had come when she had sug- 
gested a possible mental ailment as causing the very 
visible change that had come over Kit of late. Odds 
and ends of small circumstances that had been so 
trivial at the time of occurrence as to make no impres- 
sion upon him, rose in his mind now. 

It seemed to him that there had always been a cer- 
tain constraint between his young wife and the young 
man whom he had regarded in the light of his ward 
for so long. Most decidedly, if they had not been 
openly antagonistic to each other, there had been no 
interchange of cordial feeling, such as would have been 
so natural, everything considered. 

Then came the remembrance of Kit’s almost shocked 
remonstrance when he had mentioned the fact of Mau- 
rice and Sibyl joining the Courtfield party. He had 
been astonished by both her words and her tone of 
voice, but the excuse she had given him had swept 
this away. Now, however, with Constance’s remark 
ringing in his ears, he seemed to understand what had 
then puzzled him for a moment, and then his thoughts 
changed. 

If there had been a quarrel — and to Philip it did not 
appear in the least possible there could have been one, 
for, to begin with, neither had enough acquaintance with 
the other to have much difference of opinion, (it re- 
quires a certain amount of intimacy to encourage quar- 
reling) — Kit would most assuredly have brought the 
fact of the matter to his knowledge. She was so open 
in everything, was it likely she would be silent on a 


280 


LITTLE KIT. 


point which she must know full well would be one of 
keen interest to him ? 

No. He would dismiss the idea from his thoughts 
at least he would dismiss it until he was alone with 
Kit by and by, and then he would tell her what Con- 
stance had said. Perhaps he would speak of her health, 
and if there was any little trouble at work in her mind 
he would woo it from her and set her at rest. 

A sudden distaste for the presence of the fair, gentle- 
looking creature by his side began to oppress Philip. 
All his former objection to Constance and her charac- 
ter returned to him. He wished heartily he had never 
allowed his kindness of heart to overrule his judgment, 
and let this beautiful, untrustworthy woman have any 
place, even the very smallest, in his daily life. 

He had tried her and found her absolutely wanting 
once ; that should have been sufficient, though he did 
not fear her a second time. Still, she had managed to 
give him a mauvais quart-d'heiire with her suggestions 
and insinuations, and if he did not doubt the innocent 
manner in which these had been given, he could not 
forget the pain she had caused him. 

However, she was his guest, and she was also in his 
power, and Philip Desmond was the last man in the 
world to set on one side his duty as a host or withdraw 
his generosity once it had been given. 

Constance watched him carefully, while with a sharp 
glance she traced Maurice and Kit, and calculated ex- 
actly how to act. 

The conservatory was built in a three-cornered sort 
of way, having only one entrance, however, and if any 
one or two persons gathered in one particular spot no 
one who had entered before them could pass out until 
they moved. 

Constance, quickening her steps, gave a sudden ex- 


LITTLE KIT. 


281 


clamation and went forward up to the farthest bend of 
the conservatory. 

“What a magnificent palm, Sir Philip!’' she cried, 
stopping in front of a superb specimen of the fan- 
leafed tree. “ Surely this is new ? I was in here this 
morning and did not notice it, and I could hardly have 
helped seeing it, could I ? It must have been put here 
later.” 

“ Marston has brought it up from his storehouse, I 
expect! You must make love to my head gardener, 
Miss Marlowe. He is a great man in his way, and has 
the most marvelous inventions of his own to perfect 
his plants. This is certainly, as you say, a very mag- 
nificent palm. I should not be surprised if my little 
one were to cast covetous eyes on it, and have it moved 
into the hall or to some other part of the house.” 

Constance bit her lip suddenly. 

The tone of his voice, laden with unchanged devo- 
tion and love, told her her second coup had miscarried, 
although at first it seemed as if she had succeeded 
most fully in planting the seeds of doubt in the man’s 
mind. 

She was not so annoyed at this as she might have 
been. She knew that Kit and Maurice, if given time, 
and nothing happened to prevent him from hearing 
them, would most certainly condemn themselves in 
Philip's most vigorous ears and eyes. 

She continued discussing the palm with a sincerity 
of admiration which did her great credit, until the 
sound of a woman’s skirts on the marble floor pro- 
claimed her victim was close at hand. 

She moved yet a little farther into the corner, and 
Philip followed her, as in duty bound, answering her 
questions and giving her information, till all at once he 
stopped. 


282 


LITTLE KIT. 


Voices were sounding close beside him. They were 
Maurice’s voice, thick with anger and something 
else that made the strong man’s heart within him turn 
cold and sick, and Kit’s voice answering, cold but not 
quite steady, with a sort of entreaty in its tone. 

Philip stood riveted to the ground like a figure of 
marble or stone. He forgot Constance’s presence — he 
forgot everything but the hideous truth, which those 
whispering voices brought so suddenly and forcibly to 
his knowledge. 

Maurice’s voice was loud, as though the passion 
within him must have its vent. 

“Yes,” he said, “yes, I refuse your friendship, Kit. 
I will not have it when I have had so much.” 

Kit broke in suddenly. 

“You are a coward, Maurice — a coward ! — a coward ! 
Now I despise you ! I have no words to tell you how 
much I despise you !” 

Maurice laughed bitterly. 

“ You can call me hard names if you like ; but you 
can’t deny the truth — deny that you loved me before 
you met Philip Desmond, that you loved me better than 
your life itself, and — ” 

Constance stood suddenly before the man as he 
moved a step forward. 

“ Philip !” she cried, almost voicelessly, “ Philip — ” 

He shrank back from her. She was speaking rap- 
idly. He did not know what she was saying ; he was 
only conscious of a flood of words, and a maddening 
sensation that she prevented him from hearing what 
Kit was saying. Constance was quick to feel that Kit’s 
words might react on Maurice’s impassioned ones ; she 
did not intend to let the faintest chance escape her now. 

Philip drew a deep breath ; then he put her gently 
on one side and went forward. 


LITTLE KIT. 


283 


He raised his voice as he went. 

“ Stop !” he said, and the sound of that voice drove 
the blood from Kit’s face and heart. “ Stop ! What more 
has to be said on this subject must be said before me.” 

He stood before them pale as death, grown suddenly 
old and gray, as it were, in a moment. Maurice flushed 
crimson for an instant, then grew pale as he and Kit 
sprang toward him with a low cry of sorrow and yet of 
joy. 

“ Philip — Philip !” she said, his name escaping her 
like a sigh. 

She clung to his hand, but shrank from him as she 
found no responsive touch. It was as though she had 
approached some marble figure, so silent and mute did 
he stand, so heedless was he of her touch. 

Philip looked at Maurice. He would not let his eyes 
rest on that girlish loveliness, which up to a few sec- 
onds before had been so precious, so exquisite in its 
purity and youthfulness. 

“ Be good enough to come to my study,” he said 
quietly, coldly, to the young man. “This is scarcely a 
place for delicate confidence. I have still some con- 
cern for my honor in my household, if others have not. 
Follow me.” 

He turned as he spoke without a word or a look at Kit. 

She threw herself before him with a cry. The ex- 
pression of her eyes was magnificent in its sudden hor- 
ror and anguish. There was the startled look of a 
suffering child in their depths ; but Philip did not look 
at her — did not speak to her. 

At this moment he was conscious only of a great 
horror for her — of a great contempt for himself. So, 
after all, she had tricked and deceived him ! Her inno- 
cence, her fragrant young loveliness, had been but a lie 
to blind his eyes and his judgment. She was another 


284 


LITTLE KIT. 


Constance — the same blood ran in her veins. What a 
fool he had been — what a fool ! 

He was not sane in this moment ; he lost the key- 
note of his nature, as it were ; he who had all his life 
been gentle as a woman, even while his man’s strength 
had been gigantic, who had ever tempered his justice 
with mercy, who had shown consideration to the most 
contemptible of his enemies — he became for the mo- 
ment a brute. With a muttered oath he pushed the 
girl roughly on one side, so roughly that she almost 
staggered and fell, and with a backward peremptory 
look at Maurice, he strode out of the conservatory, fol- 
lowed by Captain Montgomery, who, now that it was 
too late, felt the shame and horror of what he had done 
rush full upon him. 

He could not look at Kit, and the sight of her face 
would be more than he could bear ; but he did look at 
Constance, and the evil triumph that shone in her clear, 
cold eyes gave the spur to his conscience that was not 
altogether dead. Jealousy, selfish passion, all gave way 
before the more honorable, the more manly feelings 
which his latent sense of honor awakened in him. 

He would be true to this honor now, he would put 
out his hand to save her, not to thrust her still farther 
into the blackness of despair. 

Alas, Maurice had to learn, as we all learn sooner or 
later, that if we pass by the right moment of right ac- 
tions, time and fate rise against us and put difficulties 
in our path on which we had never counted. 

As the two men passed away, Constance moved for- 
ward to where the girl stood, trembling in every limb, 
her joyous beauty, as it were, gone from her face, a 
misery, a desolation too great for words written in the 
depths of her magnificent eyes. 

Miss Marlowe felt not a grain of pity for her uncon- 


LITTLE KIT. 


285 


scious rival and her victim, but she did not mean to 
show her hand yet ; the last card had been played, but 
the game was not utterly won. 

“ Kit, dear Kit, come with me. You can’t stay here. 
Some one will come, and you don’t want everybody to 
know you are having a quarrel with Philip. Do come!” 

Kit did not look at her cousin. Her brain was a mis- 
ery of pain and bewilderment, yet she was conscious of 
a sense of discomfort in Constance’s presence. 

“ Please leave me,” she said, quietly, coldly. 

It was all she could say, and she repeated it several 
times, till at last Constance lost patience, and with a 
shrug of her shoulders swept away without another word. 

As she reached the hall she looked back to where the 
girlish figure stood like some statue devoid of life, the 
light falling on the glorious coronet of hair and on 
the dead whiteness of the young, stricken face. 

“ Good-by to your happiness, Lady Desmond !” Con- 
stance cried, ironically, under her breath. “ Your reign 
has not been long. You may try your best, but you 
will never get your kingdom again after this night’s 
work. I hope you will enjoy your future, my dear cousin!” 

As if the malicious purport of her thoughts came to 
Kit’s sensitive mind, the girl shivered, then gave a cry 
and covered her face with her hands, crouching back 
in her corner so that none might see her. 

Greatness, prosperity, success — all that made the sum 
of her life — what were they to her in comparison with 
Philip’s love — the love of the man who was her very life, 
her very motive of existence — this wonderful, exquisite 
love which was lost to her forever now ? 

It was an hour of the most terrible suffering, and in 
such an hour was it a marvel that the child should pray 
for death as the one solution to the most awful problem 
that had come to her ? 


286 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

By and by, however, the wisdom conveyed in Con- 
stance’s remonstrance came to Kit’s comprehension, 
though she still had that strange feeling of repugnance 
to all thought of her cousin at this particular moment ; 
still, as her brain grew less bewildered, she saw that 
Constance was right, and if she did not wish to court 
attention to the terrible state of affairs that now ex- 
isted, she must wake from her dream of misery and 
put aside her conflict of hopes, fears, regrets, longings. 

She went hastily to rejoin the others. No one noticed 
anything strange about Lady Desmond’s appearance. 
She was never wont to have much color, and of late it 
had been known she was not very strong, so her sud- 
den worn, wan look, which all her courage and her 
woman’s natural artifice could not hide, was not re- 
marked except by Constance’s lynx eyes and Chris’s 
tender, honest ones. 

The dance went on ; the night wore away ; one by 
one the guests straggled up to their rooms, and the 
servants had the ball to themselves. Kit watched the 
passage from the library with strained, hungry eyes, 
but neither Maurice nor Philip emerged from it. When 
Sibyl came to kiss her, she clung a little to the gentle 
friend, and for the first time Sibyl fancied something 
was wrong. 

“What is it, darling?” she whispered, eagerly. “ Are 
you ill, Kit ? Tell me ; you look so white and strange 
as if you were in great pain,” 


LITTLE kit. 


28 ? 


Kit caught at the suggestion. 

“I am ill, Sibyl, and the pain is awful. Don’t look 
frightened ; it is only — only my head ; it is a nervous 
headache. I will go to bed ; I am tired.” 

“ Let me find Philip,” Sibyl said, deeply concerned. 
“ I saw him go into his ‘ den ’ with Maurice not very 
long ago. Let me — ” 

But Kit shook her head firmly. 

“ No — no,” she said. “ I — I don’t want to worry him, 
and it will go, I know ; it is only neuralgia — it can’t 
last long.” 

“Well, let me see you to bed.” And then Sibyl, with 
her divine sympathy, determined to leave the girl 
alone. “ No, I won’t bother you. I know you are just 
like me ; you are best by yourself when you are ill ; 
but promise me you will go to bed soon — as soon as 
possible.” 

Kit kissed the anxious, tender lips once — twice. 

“ I promise,” she said. And Sibyl went away uneasy, 
yet suspecting or fearing nothing but ill health. Kit, 
left alone, sat down in a corner of the deserted draw- 
ing-room ; the lights were nearly all extinguished, the 
fires burnt out ; but she was not cold. From her cor- 
ner she could see the library door, and she sat there 
waiting and watching. Would it never open ? How 
long had they been there together ? Were they there 
still ? What had happened ? She gave a little cry of 
fear as some one came up to her, and then she clung to 
Chris’s strong hands as she had done once before on 
that night in London. 

“Oh, Chris ! Chris !” she wailed. 

He held her hands very tightly, and asked no ques- 
tions for the moment. He felt that she would speak 
without question, and his heart leaped with the sudden 
joy and hope of being able to help her. 


288 


LITTLE KIT. 


She did speak in a moment, hurriedly, not quite ar- 
ticulately. Her voice was choked with anguish, with 
fear, with sorrow, as she gave him the whole story of 
her trouble. 

Chris listened quietly and tightened his hold on her 
hands. 

“ And Philip would not look at me, not even when I 
tried to make him. He said some awful words, and — 
and he pushed me away from him, Chris. He pushed 
me away as though I were loathsome in his eyes. I — 
think I nearly died in that moment, Chris ! Oh, that 
it should have come to this, and I — I only thought to 
spare him. I would have spoken, oh ! so often, so 
often, but I could not bear to grieve him, and — ” and 
then her voice broke in a passion of sobs that shook 
her slender frame as though some rough storm were 
playing upon it. 

Chris let her cry for a few moments; then he spoke, 
and his voice was wonderfully quiet and incisive. It 
was not the voice of a boy, but of a man with a man’s 
wisdom and a man’s feeling in its every note. 

“ Kit,” he said quietly and tenderly, “ don’t fret ; this 
shall all come right. I swear to you it will — it shall ; 
but, oh ! my dear, my dear, if only you had done as I 
told you the other night. Whatever your trouble was, 
your husband was and is the proper, the only person to 
go to with it.” 

“I see it ! Ah, how clearly I see it now !” the poor 
child cried, lifting her beautiful, tear-stained face to 
his ; “ but don’t you understand, Chris — don’t you 
understand ?” 

He answered her quickly. 

“ You have no need to ask me such a question, Kit — 
me, who know you so well. Yes, I understand all — 
everything. How I wish you had told me the whole 


LITTLE KIT. 


289 


truth long ago. From the first I felt Maurice Mont- 
gomery was a coward and a blackguard, but I did not 
think he was so bad as this.” 

Kit got up and moved to and fro. Her eyes went to 
that closed door so still and so dark in the distance. 

“ Oh ! I cannot bear the suspense ; it is so awful, 
Chris ! I must go ; I must find him ; I must hear him 
speak ; I must tell him all I am suffering.” She turned 
to leave the room, and then glanced back at Chris. 
“ Wait for me ; I will come to you if — if — ” 

She would not finish her sentence, but in Chris’s 
heart there was a heavy foreboding. 

He had been long enough with Philip Desmond to 
know what sort of a man he was ; and though Kit’s 
story to him was full of truth as truth itself, he knew 
that there was much which would seem terrible in a 
husband’s eyes, at least just at the first when the facts 
of the case had been so roughly brought to the hus- 
band’s knowledge. 

Kit went across the passage quickly, her heart beat- 
ing in her breast like some wild thing struggling for 
freedom. The tear-stains were on her face, and her 
eyes were blurred with weeping as she reached the 
door and turned the handle. 

The room was dimly lit. At first she thought it was 
empty, and the fluttering in her heart ceased, and then 
— then she gave a low cry and ran across to where 
Philip sat by the table. 

He was alone, his head bowed on his hands. She 
flung herself on the ground beside him and clung to 
him with her young arms. 

“ Oh ! Philip, my husband ! my husband !” she 
moaned. 

Philip raised himself suddenly, and drew back from 
her touch as though it gave him acute pain. 


290 


LITTLE KIT. 


“ Don't,” he said, hurriedly ; and then in a low, cold 
voice he added : “ Don’t kneel to me ; let us have no 

heroics.” 

He got on to his feet as he spoke, and drew her up 
too. At the sound of his voice a great chill ran through 
her. 

He was no longer passionate or rough ; he was quite 
contained, cold as ice. He moved away from her to 
the fire, and stood there, avoiding her big, heart-search- 
ing eyes that were fixed on him in an agony of silence 
and suffering. 

“ I was just about to come to you,” he said, speaking 
a little more quickly. “ I have something to say to 
you — some questions to ask.” 

Kit was silent. She was leaning against the table, 
trembling a little, but something of his coldness had 
entered her veins, for she seemed to have lost the 
acuteness of her feeling and to have become a little 
numb and dull. 

He was conscious of the change in her; it seemed 
to come quite naturally. The horrible incongruity of 
their positions ; alone together in this silent room, yet 
as absolutely divided as though a crowd stretched be- 
tween — even this did not seem strange in this moment, 

Philip gazed straight at her. How beautiful she was, 
how fair and young, the very semblance of all that was 
pure and good in life, and yet what a sham it all was ! 
How false ! how false ! He turned from her roughly. 

“ After all,” he said, in a voice that was harsh and 
cut like a knife, “ I am a fool. What need to ask ques- 
tions ? I know all there is to know now. Better not 
tempt you to add more falsehoods to your already 
large burden.” 

Kit winced and trembled in every limb, but the scorn 
in his voice roused every grain in her veins. 


LITTLE KIT. 


291 


“ I can scarcely believe this is you, Philip,” she said, 
in her low voice, weary with tears and suffering, “ you 
who have always been so noble, so just, so merci- 
ful.” 

He was silent only an instant, and then turned on 
her almost furiously. 

“ Ah, you have found me an easy dupe, a fool blinded 
in the simplest fashion ! A fool ! Yes, that is what I 
have been, but, by heaven, I ’ll be so no longer !” 

The girl’s heart was riven under all this anger, this 
passion of righteous indignation. The pain he was 
suffering rang out so clearly to her. How she longed 
to put her arms about him and hold him close to her 
heart — the heart that beat with so great, so true a 
love. 

She tried to forget her own pain. 

“ Philip, will you grant me one favor ? Will you lis- 
ten to me ? Not as you are now, oh, no, no ; but as 
you have always been, generous, gentle, loving.” 

She broke off suddenly, and there was silence be- 
tween them as she stood with her hands pressed over 
her hot eyes. 

He bit his lips suddenly — love was stronger than 
anger at this moment. 

“Yes, I will listen ” he said, and though he spoke 
just as coldly, her heart gave a little leap. 

She stood silent a little longer ; with her pale, tired 
lips she breathed a prayer for strength and help, and 
then, with her face turned toward him, one small hand 
resting on the table, she began her story. 

She told everything there was to tell. The whole 
truth of the quarrel with her aunt, of Constance’s help, 
of the departure from Rockstone, of her arrival at the 
big house in Mayfair Square. 

With gathered courage, she told of ber sudden and 


292 


LITTLE KIT. 


unexpected meeting with Maurice, and Philip’s brows 
contracted as he listened. Of his following her into 
the park, of her fear, then of her determination not to 
go out again alone in the daytime ; then of the even- 
ings when, with a sigh of relief, she had gone out of 
the big hot house into the square gardens. 

In delicate, gentle words, that seemed to bring back 
that scattered atmosphere of her girlish dreams, she 
spoke it all. She left nothing unsaid ; even though she 
saw him start with sudden pain, she went on with her 
story, dwelling with a sorrowful touch on the point 
when Maurice’s infamy was thrust upon her knowl- 
edge and she had to listen to Sibyl’s gladness at the 
cost of her own. 

In a few more words the story was told. Miserable, 
overwhelmed with fear and trouble as she was, the girl 
felt as though a load had been lifted from her breast. 

At last, at last, she had spoken, and there was no 
longer that weighty secret in her heart to shadow her 
life and blight her love. 

Philip did not move as she finished* His heart was 
too full of bitterness. The interview just passed be- 
tween Maurice and himself, in which the young man 
had not spared himself, had increased rather than de- 
creased this bitterness. 

He knew Maurice loved Kit. From her own lips he 
had just heard how near she had been to loving 
Maurice. 

The difference between him, Philip Desmond, and 
this Maurice, had never struck him until now. The 
difference between himself and Kit seemed to assume 
all at once grotesque, horrible proportions. 

His pride was hurt, his age appeared something hor- 
rible. He covered his eyes with his hands ; he could 
not look at her. 


LITTLE KIT. 


293 


With a fast-beating heart Kit drew near to him, her 
small hands going to his as they were wont to go for 
protection and strength. 

“ Philip," she said, in a voice that had a sob in it, “ I 
have told you all at last — at last ! Oh, if you could only 
know how I have longed, how I have yearned to tell 
you this, and — and I could not do it. I could not give 
you such dreadful pain !” 

He dropped his hand from his eyes and turned 
away. 

“You preferred the pain should come from others," 
he said, with a hard laugh. 

She grew cold and sick with dread at that sound. 

“ I hoped you would never know. I hoped to spare 
you always." 

“ You were too considerate." 

The girl drew back with quivering lips. 

“Ah, you are cruel — cruel !” she said brokenly. 

Philip turned on her fiercely. 

“ Let us not discuss cruelty. I thought I had learned 
nearly all the lessons life can teach a man, but to- 
night has given me a new one. I learn that a woman 
young, little more than a child, gentle, fair to the eyes, 
with a soft voice, and a heart apparently as pure as 
gold, can deal out as much cruelty as ever the brain or 
strength of man could devise." 

“ You mean me ?" Kit cried, bewildered, distraught. 
“ You are speaking of me, Philip ? You think I have 
been cruel ? You think this of me ? When — when — ” 

The futility of her self-abnegation, of her thought 
for him, struck upon her in all its misery. 

“ If — if I could only have known. If I could only 
have known," she said to herself almost wildly ; and 
Philip laughed that hard, short laugh. 

“ The old cry. If you had only known, so that you 


294 


LITTLE KIT. 


could have been better prepared, so that you could have 
shaped your story better, so — * 

“ Philip !” the word came from her lips with a short 
cry, wrung 1 from her overladen heart. 

There was an instant of silence, and then she spoke: 

“You — you mean you do not believe me? You do 
not believe I am telling you the truth, that — that I 
have been silent all this time not for the reason I have 
stated, but — but — ” Words failed her ; she almost 
reeled in the horror that oppressed her ; she put out 
her weak, trembling hand. “ You — you do not believe 
me, Philip ! You — ” 

He put her hand on one side, quietly, coldly, as 
though the sight and the touch of it was as nothing to 
him. He answered her with absolute deliberation. 

“ I do not believe you. It is a pretty tale ; it carries 
the sound of truth ; it might and probably would con- 
vince many. It cannot convince me. I,” with a bitter 
laugh, “ I am too old. It takes more than fiction to 
convince an old man. Fact in this case is stronger than 
your fiction, pretty and delicate as it is.” 

He paused ; there was no sound from the young, 
trembling form beside him. Philip shut his eyes to 
the sight of her anguished face, to the sound of her 
quick, tortured breathing. 

He loved her in this moment as he had never loved 
her before ; but he did not yield to the temptation of 
her presence. His pride, his honor, all that constituted 
the meaning of his existence had been stabbed through 
and through to-night. 

In the best of us there is bad ; the bad in Philip 
Desmond rose to the surface now as it had not risen 
since his early youth. Philosophy could not help him 
in this moment. Cynicism replaced the gentleness 
which justice and deep thought had cultivated so long. 


LITTLE KIT. 


295 


Jealousy, the most horrible element in the nature of 
humanity, had scattered wisdom to the winds. He felt 
young and strong in that mythical youth which the 
knowledge of his many years had raised like a vision 
in his vanity, and yet he was conscious it was only a 
vision. The difference between Maurice, handsome, 
stalwart, irresistible, and himself, maddened him in 
this moment. 

He spoke truly to Kit when he told her he did not 
believe her. Against everything which his vanity 
might upraise Maurice appeared an unconquerable 
victor, one against whom it was impossible to struggle. 
How could he when he knew now that Maurice 
loved her — loved her with all the fire, the passion of 
his young manhood, with all the strength of his hand- 
some being ! What woman could turn from Maurice 
and willingly choose him ? 

Honor, esteem, respect, admiration, affection, these 
he might and could expect as his due ; but love 
— love from Kit — from a girl — from one who by her 
confession had all but opened her heart to Mau- 
rice ! 

Was it so strange, after all, that Philip Desmond 
should withhold from her his belief ? 

He pushed her from him suddenly. 

“ Go !” he said hoarsely. “Go! I — I am not sane 
to-night ! I shall say things I would rather not say. 
Leave me. I am best alone. Go !” 

She stood gazing at him for an instant with her eyes 
blind with agony. She clung to his hands. 

“ Tell me you believe me ! Only that — only that you 
know I am true, and that I love you — better than my 
life — my soul ! Only that, Philip ! I want that, and I 
will go — yes, I will go ! I will leave you alone ! But 
— you will say that — my love— my husband ! You will 


296 


LITTLE KIT. 


say it ! Oh, heaven, I can’t bear it ! Philip — Philip — 
you — you believe me ?” 

He drew his hands back from her. His ears were 
deaf to her grief. His eyes were blind to her anguish. 

“ I cannot !” he said coldly. She did not hear the 
catch in his voice. “ I cannot ! It would not be the 
truth — for — I do not believe you ! You ask too much !” 

She let her hands drop. She stood for a second — it 
seemed an hour. He had turned his face to the dying 
fire, striking the coals into a blaze with his heel. 

Like one groping in the dark, Kit found the door, 
opened it, drew it after her, and stood outside in the 
passage. Her eyes were not closed, yet she saw noth- 
ing ; and when Chris hurried to her she only shivered 
at first, and then, as she realized the comfort of his 
presence, she put her hands into his. 

“ I am tired ! He will not — he will not — ” Her 
dazed eyes looked into the boy’s honest, sorrowful 
one. There was a curious expression in her sight. 
Her breath came short and quick. “ Is — it death, Chris ? 
Is it—” 

The words died away in an inarticulate murmur, and 
Chris’s strong arms closed about her slender form, 
which had fallen feeble and unconscious against his 
loyal heart. 


LITTLE KIT. 


297 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Winter was gone, absolutely gone, dead and buried 
out of sight. Not even a breath of cold east wind re- 
mained to whisper a remembrance of the dull, dark 
days when roses were not and the sun was hidden be- 
hind his veil of clouds and gloom. 

Town was very full. Prognostications of a good 
season seemed likely to be fulfilled, and the hearts of 
the London tradesmen rejoiced. The June sunshine 
touched up the streets and illumined the flower-beds in 
the parks. It had a gentle, golden remembrance for 
the smallest corner, and brought a sense of pleasure, 
of vigorous life in its radiant visit. 

Lady Sinclair's neat little house in a street off Picca- 
dilly was in a state of endless confusion. It was literal- 
ly turned upside down, and a condition of bewilder- 
ment was the reigning atmosphere. With that good- 
nature that was so preeminently one of her leading 
characteristics, Lady Sinclair had placed her house, 
her servants and herself at the disposal of her friend, 
Miss Marlowe, on the occasion of her marriage with the 
Hon. Hector Greaves, whose persistent adoration had 
at last been rewarded with success. 

Constance had not decided in a hurry, but she was 
none the worse for having delayed so long, for her 
fianctf had come into a considerable sum of money soon 
after Christmas, and there was every prospect of his 
stepping into the earldom of Mountchester before the 
year was out. 


298 


LITTLE KIT. 


But if even these good things had not been added to 
the suit which Mr. Greaves had pursued with such per- 
sistent and apparent hopelessness for so long a time, 
Miss Marlowe would have been tempted to join her lot 
with his. 

Life had been very dull and unprofitable to Con- 
stance Marlowe since Chritmas. The fates decreed 
that she should spend many weary weeks in close at- 
tendance on her mother. The only alleviations from 
this wearisome duty were the constant visits of the 
love-sick youth, whom she gradually grew to regard as 
her future husband. 

Since the day she left Courtfield, which was at the 
end of the Christmas week, Constance had neither seen 
nor heard directly from her cousin. 

She was not, however, kept in ignorance of the way 
matters were going with the Desmonds. 

Lady Sinclair, although she detested letter-writing, 
as a rule, had never failed to send a lengthy epistle now 
and then to Miss Marlowe down at the dismal and 
deserted Limes. 

Lady Sinclair would have taken more vigorous 
methods than this to cheer and solace her friend, but 
fate had decreed that she should go abroad with her 
husband, who showed alarming symptoms of acute 
bronchitis, and to whom the English winter was de- 
clared almost fatal. 

Though she was so far away as Madeira, however, 
Lady Sinclair was quite au c our ant with the events of 
the day, and she gave Constance all the news that came 
to her, knowing it would be well received and appre- 
ciated. 

No one except Constance and Philip Desmond knew 
exactly why she had found it so necessary to depart 
from Courtfield so hurriedly. Many a time when she 


LITTLE KIT. 


299 


was quite alone, Constance Marlowe winced and grew 
very white as she recalled a certain short interview in 
the library at Courtfield, in which Philip Desmond in- 
formed her that she must prepare to leave his house as 
soon as possible, and that from that day forward he 
would not permit her to hold any communication what- 
soever with her cousin, his wife. 

“ I don't think it will be necessary for me to enlighten 
you as to why this must be, but in case you should re- 
quire the knowledge, I had better inform you that, 
through Captain Montgomery, I have been made ac- 
quainted with the nature of the affection you hold for 
my wife, and of your unwomanly intentions toward her 
and her future," Philip had said. 

Constance had grown very pale, and had trembled a 
little. 

“Maurice Montgomery is a cur ; and you — you are a 
fool !" she had cried, with sudden passion. “ Thank 
Heaven you will reap the reward of your folly, if you 
have not already done so. Send me out of your house, 
and your life, Philip Desmond, but you cannot shut 
my lips ; and when I tell the story of your wife’s in- 
fatuation for — " 

Philip had looked her straight in the eyes. 

“ I do not think you will say very much," he had 
answered, quite calmly, and very coldly. “ Remem- 
ber you are in my power, and," he had paused for an 
instant, “where my wife’s honor is concerned, you will 
not find me a lenient person, I assure you." 

So Constance had gone without seeking an interview 
with Kit, who was in bed, ill — a severe cold, the village 
doctor declared, and so it was circulated. 

The girl expressed neither sorrow nor surprise when 
she heard Constance was gone. 

Sibyl Montgomery was a little puzzled and a good 


300 


LITTLE KIT. 


deal concerned about Kit, and she determined to take 
upon herself to speak to Philip about his wife. 

She stayed on at Courtfield after all the rest had 
gone. Maurice had left the day after the servants’ 
ball, and appeared to have a great deal of military busi- 
ness to attend to, since he could not come down to see 
Sibyl. 

On the very day that Mrs. Montgomery intended to 
speak to Sir Philip about Kit, she was prevented. A 
telegram from her husband summoned her to town, and 
she journeyed thither as hurriedly as possible. 

The result of the telegram was to plunge poor Sibyl 
Montgomery into the deepest grief. Maurice had re- 
ceived orders from the War Office to hold himself in 
readiness to start immediately for an Indian frontier, 
where of late there had been sundry small outbreaks, 
which required firm and martial manipulation. 

The news of Maurice Montgomery’s departure came 
absolutely unexpected to Philip. Since the night they 
had stood together in the old library, not a word or 
sign had passed between the two men. 

They had parted in bitterness — a bitterness of con- 
scious wrong on the young man’s part, of suffering too 
deep for words on the part of the elder. 

For perhaps the only time in his life Maurice Mont- 
gomery had been true to his better nature. In plain, 
straightforward words he had put the story before 
Philip ; he had not spared himself — his voice had been 
full of reverence as he dwelt on Kit’s conduct. 

“ There has been wrong, shameful wrong,” he had 
said, in a low voice that was full of contrition, “ but the 
wrong is mine, mine utterly, entirely mine — she — she is 
as pure as the child she was — as the child she is.” 

Philip had made no answer at first, and then he had 
spoken. 


LITTLE KIT. 


301 


“ As to my wife’s conduct and character, I am the 
best judge ; as to you — you are a traitor and a coward, 
Maurice Montgomery. Go — out of my life — I never 
wish to touch your hand or see your face again. You 
are not worthy a place in an honest man’s regard or 
remembrance.” 

Maurice had obeyed him silently, and with a certain 
dignity which even the man he had tried to wrong so 
deeply could not fail to admire, and the days had gone, 
and, save from Sibyl’s lips, the young man’s name was 
never mentioned. 

A few days before he sailed, leaving his young wife 
white and stricken at the thought of the horrible sepa- 
ration (and the state of Sibyl’s health would not permit 
of her accompanying him), Maurice wrote to Philip 
Desmond : 

“ I am leaving England in a few hours. For aught I know I 
may never return. I have wronged you deeply, but before the 
grim shadow of a separation which may mean death I dare to 
approach you. Let me grip your hand once more before I go, 
Philip — the hand of the friend who has been so much more 
than a friend— and in Heaven’s name let me beseech you not to 
let the thought of me rest on your happiness forever. She is a 
spirit of goodness and purity — she loves you with her whole heart 
and soul. Do not turn from her, Desmond, do not embitter her 
young life and ruin your future. As a man to a man, I beseech 
you give me the illimitable joy of feeling that when I sail away I 
shall leave behind me a renewed bond of absolute peace and 
happiness between your wife and yourself. 

“ I do not deserve any good thing at your hands, yet I, who 
know you so well, know your great, true heart and noble soul, 
feel you will not refuse me in this. I leave Sibyl to your care. 
Heaven forgive me, I have brought sorrow into her young life — 
but still it is not so bad as it might have been. 

“Now she can still love me, and cling to me, though we are 
far apart. I pray she may never know the truth. I pray I may 


302 


LITTLE KIT. 


be made more worthy of her, and more fit to touch the hand of 
a man who has been from first to last my best friend. 

“ Maurice Montgomery.” 

* * * * * * * 

Philip Desmond was not at Courtfield when this 
letter came from Maurice. He was in London, plunged 
in the business of his election, striving with might and 
main to let this and other outside matters fill his mind, 
and crowd out the vision of the lovely, wan young face 
that looked at him so beseechingly each day in the old- 
fashioned bedroom at Courtfield, looked with yearning, 
hungry eyes, but whose lips never spoke the words 
that were eating out her heart. 

It had been an awful time to Philip since the night 
when he had answered Chris’s eager call, and had car- 
ried the slender, unconscious form up the broad stair- 
case to the room of quaint corners and dark shadows, 
where she had been afterward so ill. Philip Desmond 
had gone through an eternity of suffering. He lost his 
newly-found youth and buoyancy, the silver lines in- 
creased in his dark hair ; there was a perpetual tired 
look in his eyes, a strained expression round his 
mouth. 

If these signs were noticed, they were at once at- 
tributed to anxiety over Kit’s illness ; no one save 
Chris Hornton knew what they really meant. The 
boy was himself in great trouble. This shadow that 
had fallen on Kit’s happiness enveloped him. 

“ Oh, if I could only set it right — if I could only do 
something ; but there is nothing. In time, perhaps, he 
may see things differently, but then it may be too late ; 
for I know her — I know Kit. Each day that goes by 
like this, goes nearer to breaking her heart. I don’t 
understand what he feels. Surely he must know she 
loves him with all her soul — and yet — ” 


LITTLE KIT. 


303 


But that was the one sorrowful mistake of Philip 
Desmond’s mind. He had repented instantly of his 
roughness to her. Tears had blinded his eyes as he 
had laid her on the bed that night, and had gazed at 
the pathetic silence of her white loveliness. 

By every means in his power he tried to let her 
understand his anger was gone. There was nothing 
but tenderness remaining, yet with all this, through all 
this, there was one thought, one memory. 

“ She gives me gratitude and duty — she gave him 
love. Her love is not for me. It has all been one big 
mistake. It was beautiful at first, now it is sorrowful. 
Poor child — poor little child ! And I hurt her the 
other night ! I said rough, harsh things to her, and 
they were not true. I do believe in her ! I do believe 
she would do all in the world to save me pain ; but she 
does this from gratitude, from affection, not from love. 
She cannot give me love.” And then he would grow a 
little cynical. “ Constance Marlowe spoke only too 
truly ; I am a fool, and I am reaping the reward of my 
folly. How can I expect the impossible ? How can I, 
Philip Desmond, a middle-aged, gray-haired man, look 
to have the love of a beautiful young creature like Kit ? 
It is absurd — it is absurd ! I am a fool !” 

This was the burden of his thoughts, and, in a vague 
way, it touched Kit’s comprehension. 

Outwardly there was no difference between them. 
Every morning Philip came to her bedside, and bend- 
ing his head, kissed her forehead gently. 

He was concerned over her illness, buthe knew there 
was no danger, and that the fever that burned in her 
hands came from the trouble in her heart. 

In a little time she would grow better — she was so 
young, and with the young time is a great physi- 
cian. 


304 


LITTLE KIT. 


He sat in her room and chatted with Sibyl and read 
his papers ; but to Kit it was one long agony when he 
was there. 

“ He is kind,” she said to herself ; “ he is good ; he 
regrets his hard words ; but he does not believe me. 
Oh, Philip ! Philip ! What shall I do to let you know 
now much I love you ?” 

Then came Sibyl’s hasty departure and the news of 
Maurice’s term of foreign service. Kit learned the 
latter in a few agonized words from Sibyl. 

She was up, sitting in a chair by the fire, and as she 
read the suffering that rang out so clearly in Sibyl’s 
note, tears started to her eyes, and she covered her face 
with her two hands. 

Philip had come to the door unperceived by her, and 
stood for a moment watching her. Her silent grief 
gave him horrible pain. 

“ She will conquer it, but she will suffer. Poor child ! 
My poor little Kit ! How brave she is ! I, who know 
what the torture of love is, should pity her now. This 
news of his sudden departure is more than she can 
bear.” 

He withdrew softly, and went down to the library. 

Chris was there, reading. 

Philip stood in front of the fire for a few moments 
in deep thought. When he spoke he had taken a de- 
termination. 

“ Chris,” he said, looking at the big, ungainly figure 
gently, “ I want you to let me have a letter daily, telling 
me how my wife progresses. I am obliged to go up to 
town about this election. There is no danger, but 
should she have the smallest need of me, you will tele- 
graph at once. I know I can trust you, Chris, to do all 
that is necessary.” 

“ You can trust me,” Chris answered, and then he was 


LITTLE KIT. 


305 


silent a moment. “ Have you told Kit you are going, 
Sir Philip ?” he asked, in a hurried way. 

Philip shook his head, and was silent in his turn. 

Chris grew very red in the face, and fidgeted on his 
big feet. 

“ Sir Philip,” he began, then he hesitated, and then 
he began again : “ Sir Philip, is my — ” Then the boy- 
ishness in him broke forth. “ Oh ! must you go ? 
Must you leave her now, Sir Philip ?” 

The man looked at him with eyes that were not quite 
clear, and his lips trembled a little. He did not answer 
immediately, but when he spoke his voice was steady 
and clear. 

“ Yes, Chris,” he said, quietly. “ I must go ! I must 


306 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

So the weeks had sped away. Christmas was a thing 
of the past ; spring had adorned the world with a gar- 
ment of freshness and fragrance ; Maurice Mont- 
gomery was out at his post in the far East ; his young 
wife was bearing bravely her separation from the one 
being who was her world, and preparing for the trial 
which heralds the joys of maternity with all the sweet- 
ness and courage of her nature ; Constance Marlowe 
was about to become Constance Greaves ; Chris Horn- 
ton had progressed so far in his legal career as to be 
eating his dinners studiously, and Philip Desmond had 
already won honor and fame by a magnificent maiden 
speech in the House. 

Universal regret was expressed in society at the fact 
that young Lady Desmond, whose beauty and charm 
had already become the theme of admiration, should 
have been prevented from taking her proper place in 
the world of fashion and rank during the London 
season. 

She had, it is true, made her appearance as became 
her position at one of the March Drawing Rooms, 
being presented at the same time as Sibyl, who had to 
make a fresh entree in her new guise as a married 
woman ; but after this function was over, Kit had re- 
tired again to Courtfield, and was lost to sight. 

The reason for her absence from town was forth- 
coming in the ill health of old Lady Milborough, who 
had been attacked with severe bronchitis during her 


LITTLE KIT. 


307 


visit to Sir Philip and his wife, and had developed such 
serious symptoms as to be unable to be moved either 
to her town or her country house, and whose age and 
delicate constitution made her condition one of great 
anxiety to her friends and relations. 

The affection that had existed for so long between 
Philip Desmond and this kinswoman was something 
that every one knew, therefore it was by no means an 
astonishing piece of news that the old lady’s state of 

health was occasioning the new member for , in the 

City of London, much trouble ; but the world of 
fashion was unanimous in declaring that Lady Des- 
mond evinced a more than generous and unselfish 
nature in renouncing the pleasures and triumphs of a 
season for the sick-room, and devoting herself night and 
day to one who, though so dear a friend to her husband, 
was, after all, little more than a stranger to herself. 

And then, too, it was decreed almost a sad thing that 
so devoted a couple should be compelled to pass the 
beginning of their newly-married life, comparatively 
speaking, apart, for, with the immense amount of busi- 
ness surrounding his election and seat in the house, Sir 
Philip was, of course, obliged to be perpetually on the 
spot, necessitating a lonely domestic sojourn in cham- 
bers, while his big town house wore a muffled and 
silent air, and his beautiful young wife was residing at 
Courtfield, which was at too great a distance from 
town to allow of Sir Philip’s travelling to it more fre- 
quently than once every week. 

Constance Marlowe alone, out of all the world (Chris 
excepted), was not deceived by the apparently easy 
construction given to the Desmond manage. 

She knew as clearly as if the whole truth had been 
written or spoken to her what an anguish of misery lay 
beneath Philip Desmond’s calm, quiet bearing. 


308 


LITTLE KIT. 


When comment was made on his tired, harassed ap- 
pearance, she knew how much was due to affairs of 
state and how much to the remembrance of a sorrow 
that began at Christmas time and would last him all 
his life. 

All this was most agreeable to Constance. The color 
would flash into her cheeks and eyes when she realized 
just what these two were suffering — the girl whom she 
detested with such jealous hatred, and the man who 
meted out to her such wealth of contempt, scorn and 
dislike ; but, great as the pleasure was, it was not so 
great as it might have been. 

A hard, bitter look would come over the face which, 
to her infatuated fiance \ was so beautiful, so sweet, as 
Constance recalled how Maurice had failed her. 

She had had no exact idea of what would follow on 
the denouement she had worked so hard to bring about ; 
but one thing had seemed certain, and that was that 
Kit must suffer disgrace and humiliation, helped in a 
large measure by Maurice’s madness about her. 

There had been no thought of pity for Sibyl Mont- 
gomery in these vague dreams of future revenge. 
There had only been that yearning for Philip to taste 
suffering, for Kit to be torn from the high place she 
has been given so suddenly. 

And now, each time Constance’s eyes rested on the 
clear-cut features of Philip Desmond and read the 
silent sorrow expressed on them, she knew that the suf- 
fering had indeed come. But this was all that had 
happened. Kit, instead of being degraded, was raised 
a little higher, had won fresh laurels and made more 
friends. 

It was gall and wormwood to Miss Marlowe to have 
to listen to the warm praise bestowed on her cousin for 
her good heart and unselfishness. 


LITTLE KIT. 


309 


Even Lady Sinclair was touched by it. 

“ Really, she is not so bad, after all,” she said to Con- 
stance. “ It is not every girl would give up so much 
just to stay and nurse a crotchety old woman. I like her 
better for this than I ever thought I should, Constie. 
It only shows one should never make hasty judgments.” 

“ I don’t quite see how Lady Desmond could act very 
differently. A guest is taken seriously ill at her house, 
and she naturally gives a certain amount of attention 
to that guest, voila tojit /” 

Constance’s manner and voice were always con- 
strained when speaking of Kit, and Lady Sinclair al- 
ways changed the subject quickly. She had a sort of 
vague idea that Constance’s visit to Courtfield had not 
been quite satisfactory ; but she asked no questions, 
and Miss Marlowe vouchsafed no remarks, and so the 
matter rested. 

It was a bitter thing for Constance to have to curb 
her tongue about Kit. She could have started a mag- 
nificent scandal, which would speedily have attained 
mammoth proportions ; but she had a wholesome dread 
of Philip’s anger, and she knew if she spoke he would 
keep his word and visit his wrath upon her, and she 
could not afford to let the world in general, and Hector 
Greaves in particular, know the poverty of her honor 
and principles. And, after all, she had some consola- 
tion. 

“ Their dream is spoiled,” she said to herself often 
and often. “ It did not last long. He has learned the 
true meaning of an old man’s folly. He may be as 
proud as he likes. He won’t forget in a hurry. And 
though to me it is incomprehensible, yet it is also true 
that that cur Maurice was in love with her. That is 
something for Sir Philip Desmond to remember all the 
time. And he will remember it doubly so since Mau- 


310 


LITTLE KIT. 


rice has flown away from temptation in this quixotic 
fashion. Yes, I think I may make my mind easy that 
Philip Desmond knows what disappointment and un- 
happiness are. He bears it well, but it is a bitter 
burden all the same.” 

Constance’s unwomanly exultation over her success, 
marred though it was, would have deepened and inten- 
sified if she could have known the weight of the bur- 
den which lived both in Philip’s heart and in the heart 
of his young wife. 

Somehow Kit did not really know how she lived and 
breathed and had her being. Since that day when 
Chris told her of Philip’s departure for London, hope 
had seemed to die in her breast. While he had been 
at Courtfield, even though they did not meet often, 
and though those brief, cold meetings were so terribly 
sad, yet he had been hers — he had been near her. She 
could have found him in an instant if a longing too 
great to be borne urged her to his side. But since that 
day, what a mockery, what a horrible sham life had be- 
come ! Was it possible it could have been she, Kit, 
who only a few short weeks ago had been so radiantly, 
so wonderfully happy ? 

She did not shed any tears in those first awful days, 
when she realized that Philip meant to take himself 
out of her life forever ; that no matter what the surface 
life might be, the communication between them, the 
exquisite intercourse of heart and love and sympathy, 
was utterly dead. 

She shed no tears over her own unspeakable grief. 
Those that came were shed for Sibyl — Sibyl, whose 
face grew wan, and whose eyes grew dull from silent, 
unselfish sorrow at the absence of her husband far 
away in a distant land where danger was an hourly 
companion. 


LITTLE KIT. 


311 


Yes, Kit had a hard burden to bear here — something 
that wrung her tender heart to its uttermost depths. 
The only gleam of gladness that came was the knowl- 
edge that Sibyl’s real happiness was untouched — that 
doubt never crept into her paradise. If the adoration 
she had lavished on Maurice was not quite so great as 
it had been, the fault lay with Maurice in person, and 
had nothing to do with that one worst fault of his, 
which Kit’s keen sense of justice told her he was re- 
grettingas bitterly and sincerely as it was possible for 
one of his nature to do. 

It was almost with a sense of pleasure, certainly of 
mental relief, that the girl plunged into the anxieties 
of sick nursing. She had barely recovered from her 
own indisposition, but she forgot her own weakness 
most gallantly, and proved so tender and skillful a nurse 
that Lady Milborough was never happy except when 
Kit was hovering about her. 

Philip, on hearing of his old friend’s precarious con- 
dition (and for several days it was a hard tussle with 
her for life itself), immediately travelled down to 
Courtfield. 

He met Kit in the sick room, and they exchanged 
few words. The man’s heart was wrung most bitterly 
to see the change that had come over her fair young 
beauty. She was very thin, and the natural pallor of 
her complexion seemed accentuated. Her mass of hair 
was brushed back from her brows, as though its weight 
were almost too great a burden. Her eyes hurt him, as 
though she had given him a sharp stab. Philip could 
not endure the expression in them. And the cold, 
quiet manner with which she received him was some- 
thing indescribably painful. 

The sunshine of her youth seemed dead. The joyous 
lovely young creature who for a time had given him 


312 


LITTLE KIT. 


such exquisite happiness seemed to have vanished al- 
together, and this proud, cold, suffering woman, with 
her almost regal beauty, reigned in her stead. 

With the bitterness of jealousy and the blindness of 
his mistake rankling in his breast, Philip could barely 
frame the few conventional words he was compelled to 
speak to her before others. His heart yearned over her 
as a mother over a child, she looked so wan, so delicate, 
despite her pride. From Chris he heard that she never 
left the sick-room, if possible, and the strain was almost 
beyond her. A word, a look from him formerly would 
have taught her to be careful of herself ; but now, even 
if he could have uttered this request, he doubted 
whether she would have heeded it. Once their eyes 
met across the sick bed, and at the anguish written in 
those marvelous orbs Philip grew pale. 

“ She is brave, but it is almost more than she can 
endure ! Ah, Kit, why did we ever meet ? And yet it 
has not been my hand that has spoiled your life ; that 
work was done before I crossed your path. Even now 
— ay, even now — how gladly would I give you the hap- 
piness your poor young heart craves for, cost what it 
might ; but what can I do ? He is lost to you forever, 
and I — I can only stand by and grieve in my hopeless- 
ness for what can never be now !” 

Such was the thought in his heart. Though the 
jealousy, the anger against Maurice (coupled with that 
broken feeling which comes when we find one we have 
trusted and cared for can work us such evil) still lived, 
there was no anger now for Kit ; only pity — great, 
deep pity — which sprang from his great, deep love. 

It was on this visit to Courtfield he found Maurice’s 
letter. It had lain there forgotten for days. 

A sudden sorrow broke across the strong man’s 
anger as he read, and realized that he read too late. 


LITTLE KIT. 


313 


The key-note of his big, generous, noble heart was 
touched by this letter from the man who had so deeply 
wronged him. 

Had it reached him in time he would have put aside 
all feelings of jealousy and hatred as he did now, and 
have granted the last request of one who had been to 
him something in the light of a son. 

But it was too late ; Maurice had started ; by this 
time was far on his way to Northern India, and Philip 
could only sit and read his broken words with eyes that 
did not see very clearly. 

He was grateful to Maurice for the delicate yet firm 
testimony to Kit’s nobility. He did not need this now ; 
he knew the girl had never wronged him in thought or 
word. 

He had conquered his anger against her ; he had 
forgiven her her silence ; he loved her more earnestly 
than before, because he pitied her so much. 

In every line of her pale, changed face he read what, 
to his mistaken mind, was but evidence of the awful 
struggle that lived in her heart — the struggle between 
her love for Maurice and her duty to him and to her- 
self. 

He never doubted her love for Maurice. It was so 
natural — so very, very natural ; whereas for himself — 
He stifled a sigh. 

How could he have ever been so foolish, so vain, so 
mad ? What was there in him to inspire love — a mid- 
dle-aged, gray-haired man? He shivered as the re- 
membrance of Maurice’s gallant, handsome face rose 
before him, and then his own grew cold and stern as he 
realized how wantonly this young, handsome man had 
played with Kit’s heart, and how basely he had deceived 
Sibyl, who gave him such a wealth of pure, true love. 

Philip sat long in the somber silence of his library. 


314 


LITTLE KIT. 


That day justice fought with mercy in his heart when 
the first weakness called up by Maurice’s written words 
had faded from his mind, but mercy was the stronger. 

Before he left Courtfield for town again he had an- 
swered Maurice’s letter — answered it in a gentle, noble 
spirit, giving the young man all the consolation his 
heart could conceive. 

He made no mention of Kit, but he said, most truly, 
that he would regard Sibyl as a sacred charge, and that 
he hoped before death came as a finale to their lives 
he and Maurice might be permitted to clasp hands 
again as they had been wont to do. 

He did not see Kit before he went, and many a weary 
week dragged itself away before he did. 

Chris was the communicating link between Philip 
Desmond and his wife. 

From Chris, Philip had all the news of Courtfield ; 
how Kit looked, what she said, the rides and drives 
they took together as Lady Milborough became conva- 
lescent, the clever way in which she managed the big 
household and took part in the village matters. From 
Chris, too, in blunt, plain words, Sir Philip heard of his 
young wife’s silence, of her pallor, of her quiet, apa- 
thetic submission to fate. 

From Chris, Kit heard all there was to hear ot her 
husband — of his success in the House, of his quiet, re- 
served life, of a brief week’s illness, which had made 
him thinner and much older, of his indescribable kind- 
ness and interest in himself (Chris), of how he urged 
and encouraged and assisted Kit’s childhood’s friend by 
every means in his power. 

It was Chris Horton’s one thought, one desire, to see 
Sir Philip Desmond and Kit together again. 

Something there was that he could not understand. 
He knew Kit thought her husband despised her for 


LITTLE KIT. 


315 


what, in her harsh self-reproach, she called her deceit 
to him. 

She would not listen to Chris when he urged so vehe- 
mently he was certain this was not the case. 

How otherwise would Philip have acted if she were 
wrong ? Chris could not explain all he felt, only he 
knew that he was working in the dark in his mediation 
between the two ; and he could only pray and hope, as 
each day went by and saw the chasm widening between 
them, that a glimmer of light would shine through the 
darkness of despair that would creep over his hope and 
show him the way to bridge the chasm and land Kit 
once more in the haven of her husband’s love. 


316 


LITTLE KIT. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

And now June had come. London was one vortex 
of gayety. Constance Marlowe’s wedding-day w T as close 
at hand ; balls, suppers, dinners, the opera, the park, 
all the thousand and one luxurious items that make up 
a London season were in full swing, and life seemed 
the keynote of joyousness itself. Down in the meadows 
about Courtfield the ground was golden with cowslips 
— the scent of a million roses freighted the air, the 
soft buzz of the insect world, the faint note of the bird, 
all heralded the near approach of summer time in the 
fullness of its beauty and splendor. 

Kit, sitting under a group of trees on the lawn, look- 
ing like some old picture in her quaintly-fashioned 
white gown, talked and read to Lady Milborough, who 
was almost her bright, brisk self again. 

If the old lady divined that some great, terrible 
shadow had fallen upon the lives of these two whom 
she loved so well, she had too much tact and delicacy 
of thought to speak of it. She played her role so well, 
regretting Philip’s apparently enforced absence from 
his home, and reproaching herself for her share in 
keeping Kit away from her husband, that the girl never 
doubted but that the words Lady Milborough spoke 
were uttered in absolute truth and good faith. When- 
ever she had to listen to a regret that she was not in 
her proper place in town, Kit always answered 
hurriedly : 

“ I am much happier in the country. I am not a 


LITTLE KIT. 


317 


town mouse, dear Lady Mil,” — a name Philip had given 
to his kinswoman long ago. On this particular June 
morning Kit had been reading the events of the day to 
the old lady, and had even progressed so far as to re- 
peat in her clear, pretty voice a speech that Philip had 
made in the House the preceding night, when a servant 
came quickly across the lawn. 

From afar Kit caught sight of the buff-colored en- 
velope, and glanced at Lady Milborough with anxiety. 
Telegrams were rare visitors at Courtfield, and it was 
necessary to keep the old lady free from all excitement. 
It was with relief that Kit saw her reading had fallen 
evidently on deaf ears. Lady Milborough was sleeping 
quietly on her cushions. Kit moved away a few steps 
and opened the envelope and read the telegram. 

The contents sent the blood first to her face, and 
then so absolutely from it that she looked almost like 
death. 

“ A boy was born to Sibyl this morning. She is very ill. She 
wishes for you. Will you come to her if you are able? I think 
you would do her good.” 

It was signed “ Philip.” 

Even in the sudden sorrow and anguish that smote 
her heart at thought of her sweet, gentle friend, joy — 
brief, fleeting as a flash of lightning, but joy neverthe- 
less — shot through her. 

“ Philip !” He had written “ Philip.” not “ Philip 
Desmond,” or “ Desmond,” as he generally wrote in 
telegrams. 

It was only one word — only a tiny, tiny word, but, 
oh, how much it seemed to convey to her ! What a 
psean of song would have filled her heart had she let 
this small ray of hope swell as it could have been made 
to do ! But self was never long prominent with Kit, 


318 


LITTLE KIT. 


and in another moment she remembered Sibyl, and a 
great pang smote her as she realized the truth. 

“ She is very ill.” Philip would never have written 
that unless it was absolutely true. “Very ill !”. Poor 
Sibyl ! Poor brave, gentle, sweet Sibyl ! 

A rush of tears blinded Kit’s eyes as she stood for a 
moment. It was so hard, so terrible to realize, and only 
yesterday, only a few short hours ago, a letter had come 
from Sibyl, full of bright words and much happiness, 
because Maurice had written so often and loved her so 
much, full of happy hopes over the approaching event. 

“ I pray,” Sibyl had written — “ I pray I may have a 
son. It will give Maurice such delight. He loves 
boys.” 

And now Sibyl’s prayer was granted. A son had 
come to her ; but even here, knowing nothing, having 
only a vague few words to go by, Kit knew the realiza- 
tion of her prayer was to cost poor Sibyl Montgomery 
her life. 

It was a hurried journey to London, despite all she 
had to do, and there was at least a quarter of an hour 
devoted to telling Lady Milborough, as gently as she 
could (hiding the worst), the cause of her sudden de- 
parture. It was barely noon when Lady Desmond 
started for London. 

To Kit it seemed a century since the moment she had 
received the telegram, so great were her anxiety and her 
desire to reach Sibyl’s side. 

Chris was waiting for her at the station. She could 
not frame her question, but one glance at his face told 
her that she was not too late, that she would still gaze 
on the living face of her friend. 

“ Sir Philip sent me,” Chris said, as they met. “ He 
thought this would be the train you would catch.” 

It seemed an eternity, that drive through the hot. 


little Lit. 


313 


sunny London streets. Kit shivered as they drove up 
to the big house in Mayfair Square. How this one 
spot haunted her ! What anguish of mind was ever 
associated with it ! 

She scarcely knew how she got up the stairs. She 
seemed to be in a dream, out of which she woke when 
her eyes rested on Sibyl’s face with its smile of delighted 
welcome chasing away for an instant even the grim, 
cold touch of death itself. 

From that moment Kit never left the bedside. She 
felt, in a vague way, some one lifting the hat from her 
red-gold hair, and drawing the gloves from her cold, 
resistless hands. She heard whispers of voices and the 
soft rustle of the nurse’s gown, and once when her 
eyes had turned she had felt a gleam of comfort come 
vaguely into her heart as they rested on Philip. 

“ He is here ; all is well,” was the dreamy, intangible 
thought that drifted through her brain. It was a re- 
version to the time when she had learned to find her 
only comfort, her only joy when he was near. 

After that the hours sped ; the sunset passed and 
night came ; the trees out in the gardens moved faintly 
in the chill breeze ; the moon came up slowly from be- 
hind the big houses opposite. 

They had touched Kit gently and urged her to take 
some rest. She only shook her head, and tightened 
her hold on the frail hand Sibyl had put out to her 
hours before. 

“ I am not tired — I am not tired,” she answered, 
hardly knowing she spoke. 

At midnight there came the change. The sleep that 
had seemed so sweet broke ; the heavy eyelids were 
opened; the pallid lips spoke only two words, the 
name dearest and sweetest to the dying ears : 

“ Maurice ! Maurice !” 


320 


LITTLE KIT. 


Kit bent forward hurriedly. The hand she held 
slipped through her fingers in a strange, nerveless sort 
of way. There was a curious chill in the air. She 
caught her breath and looked about her, seeing noth- 
ing, knowing nothing, only fighting with that horrible 
sensation in her throat and ears. 

Sibyl’s eyes were closed ; she had fallen to sleep 
again. There was no need to wait. She was better 
asleep. By and by she would waken, and then — 

“ Give her to me,” Philip said, gently, as the nurse’s 
strong arms received the slender, staggering figure. 

He carried her out of the room. In a sudden, hor- 
rible fashion, he realized she was lighter than she had 
once been. Death had come to one young flower — a 
flower that had seemed as strong and vigorous as any 
in the world’s garden. What if he should come again ! 

Stifling a cry of agony, Philip clasped Kit closer to 
his breast. He laid her down on a couch in one of 
the deserted rooms, and brushed the hair back from 
her brow. 

Her still, white face, to his distraught eyes, wore the 
same look as that which lay on the dead girl’s upstairs. 
Strong, brave man that he was, he trembled in every 
limb. He made no effort to revive her ; he could only 
kneel beside her, burying his face in the cushions on 
which she lay. It was the entrance of the nurse, calm, 
unemotional, professional, that roused him. 

“ Let me advise you to take Lady Desmond away 
from here ; she is better out of the house, Sir Philip,” 
she said, in her quiet, even tones ; “ the strain and anx- 
iety of these last hours will seem less if she is removed 
to other surroundings. She can do no good ; she is 
better away.” 

The practical common sense of these words roused 
Philip to action. While the nurse went about the task 


LITTLE KIT. 


321 


of restoring Kit from her heavy unconsciousness, he 
had gone below and made known his wishes to the but- 
ler, who, like the rest of the sad, disorganized household, 
was in deep and sincere sorrow at the loss of one whom 
all had loved. 

Chris, faithful as any watch-dog, was waiting in the 
hall, and stood looking up at the darkened staircase, 
his heart riven with grief, for he had grown to care 
deeply for Sibyl, and he knew what this would mean to 
Kit. 

His strong arms helped her husband to put her in the 
cab, and he drove with them to the house where Kit 
had shone in her radiant beauty as a bride only a few 
short months before. As they parted, Philip Desmond 
put out his hand to the young man. 

“ Good-night, and Heaven bless you, Chris,” he said, 
his voice broken and not clear. “ You are a true friend, 
always ready, always eager ; it may be that I shall have 
occasion to put your friendship to a stronger test now ; 
but I can trust you — you will not fail me ?” 

“No, I will not fail — now or at any time,” Chris 
answered. 

He did not quite understand the purport of these 
words, but something in them gave him a deep sense 
of uneasiness, an anticipation of coming evil to the girl 
he loved, a sorrow even greater than that which she had 
endured. 

* * * * * * 

It was three weeks later. The grave had closed 
over the fair young remains of Sibyl Montgomery. 
The big house in Mayfair Square was shut up, the few 
servants who remained wore garments of somber 
hue. 

Lady Grace Leith had gone abroad ; Sir George was 
seen only occasionally. Constance Marlowe’s wed- 


322 


LITTLE JUT. 


ding had come and passed without a hitch ; she had 
been carried off to Switzerland by her infatuated 
husband. 

Chris was down at Courtfield, whither he had trav- 
elled in company with Kit. They had been accom- 
panied also by a grave, important-looking woman, who 
seemed born to command, and by a gentle-faced young 
creature, whose office it was to act mother to the 
motherless little being whose life had cost Sibyl Mont- 
gomery so much. 

After she had been laid in her coffin, they found a 
folded paper among her things. It was not a letter — 
a short statement of a wish — but it was duly signed and 
witnessed, and it was regarded in the light of a will by 
all those she had left behind, even though its legality 
might have proved worthless. 

Sibyl had written : 

“I wish, in the event of my not recovering — and somehow I 
feel that I shall not live — that so long as my beloved husband is 
away, and unable to take charge of my child, it shall be given 
over to the absolute care of my dear friends, Philip and Kathe- 
rine Desmond, to be subject to their will and authority until such 
time as my husband returns. I wish this because my husband 
would wish it, and because I know them to be the truest, noblest 
friends any living being could desire to have.” 

Then had followed her signature and those of the 
two who witnessed to this simple, pathetic document. 

No one arose to argue or object to Sibyl’s will, and 
everything was carried out as she had desired. 

To Kit, this legacy of her dying friend was something 
more than sacred. The whole of her sorrowing, gen- 
erous, heart went out to the fragile atom of humanity 
thus given into the joint care of Philip and herself. 
There was something more besides — a faint yet an ex- 
quisite gleam of hope. 


Little kit. 


323 


“ It is a tie that may bring him closer to me ; that 
may lead him to forget and forgive.” 

So ran the thought in her mind. It was there so 
perpetually she was almost afraid of speaking it 
aloud. 

And so out of her deep, deep sorrow — and she could 
not gauge the depth of her loss yet — there came this 
little gleam of joy. 

From Philip himself there was nothing to encourage 
it. He was, if possible, colder, graver, more quiet than 
before. Once or twice Kit had caught a look in his 
eyes that sent the blood coursing through her veins 
like wildfire, but his lips had never moved, and she had 
come away to Courtfield with the motherless child as 
soon as the authorities gave consent for the infant to 
travel. 

And now she was once more at Courtfield, and Philip 
was alone in town ; but the apathy, the calm submis- 
sion that had visited them both for so long after the 
breaking of their dream seemed to have deserted them 
both. 

Kit lived in a sort of fever. It hurt Chris to see the 
flush on the cheeks and the light in her eyes ; they were 
beautiful, but they were too brilliant, and they spoke of 
a hot war within, of a perpetual struggle which must 
in time outweigh the strongest will power. 

“ You will tire yourself, Kit,” he would say sometimes 
when he came upon her walking up and down, to and 
fro, beneath the trees, with Sibyl’s baby in her arms, 
resting on her troubled heart. 

“ I could walk for hours,” she would cry. “ I am 
never tired when he is with me.” 

These very words came to Philip's ears late one 
hot afternoon. He stood, unseen, in an open door- 
way. 


324 


LITTLE KIT. 


He watched the picture. She looked more beautiful 
than usual in her long dress of thin, black material, 
her head, with its crown of red-gold hair, bent over the 
tiny face on her arms, her lips kissing softly the deli- 
cate, tender skin. 

Philip turned away abruptly, and stifled a groan as 
he walked. 

“ She does not heed me. His child — she has that ! 
It is something, and in time — who knows ? — he himself. 
Yes — yes ; I decide now. I will go now. It is only a 
coward who would hesitate.” 

Half an hour later a servant approached Chris, who 
was engaged in the delight of baby worship. 

“ Sir Philip would like to see you in the library, sir,” 
he said, deferentially. 

“ Philip !” Kit looked up, startled, and her heart beat 
to suffocation. 

She had not even known he intended to pay Court- 
field a visit. A wildness of joy and sorrow — sorrow in 
anticipation rather than realization — mingled in her 
heart. 

For the sake of outer appearance she affected no 
surprise before the servant. 

“ This is taking us by storm. If you like,” she said, 
and Chris’s quick ears read the trembling uncertainty 
in her voice, “ go, Chris. I must take baby back to the 
nursery, and then I will come.” 

Chris obeyed her. He found Philip busy writing, his 
table heaped with papers. He smiled faintly as the 
younger man came in. 

“ I have just a quarter of an hour to give you, Chris. 
Sit down.” 

Chris drew up a chair and waited. 

Philip wrote on, and threw down his pen. 

“ Chris, a little while ago I told you I should put your 


LITTLE KIT. 


325 


friendship to the test. I now fulfill my words. I am 
going- away almost immediately — start for Africa in a 
few days. You know I am something of an explorer, 
so it may not astonish you to hear I have at last allowed 

to persuade me, and I shall journey straight to him 

and join his expedition. I refused his offer at Christ- 
mas, but I now find I can go.” 

The other turned very pale. 

“ But — Kit — your wife, sir ?” 

Philip compressed his lips. 

“ I leave her in your charge. This is where I require 
your friendship, Chris.” 

Chris looked straight before him. 

“ And suppose I — I refuse this ?” he said. 

Philip’s eyes opened in amazement. 

* What !” He could find no other word. 

' Suppose, I say, that I refuse this ; not because I am 
not sufficiently your friend, but because I dare to hold 
myself your friend in very word and truth. Sir Philip,” 
Chris got on to his feet, “ I am much younger than you. 
You are a great man, a wise man, a noble man, but — 
but you are also a blind one. No, you must hear me 
out. I should have said all this long ago, but — but the 
truth of things only came to me lately, and I have been 
waiting — waiting for an opportunity to speak. I said 
you were blind, Sir Philip. I say it again ; and not 
only blind, but mad ! You are breaking your heart 
over a silly, a horrible mistake, and you are breaking 
Kit’s heart at the same time !” 

Philip had risen, and with one hand was leaning on 
the back of his chair. 

“ What are you saying ?” he asked, in a low, hurried 
voice. 

“The truth !” Chris said, valiantly. “The truth at 
last, thank Heaven! You are going away; you are 


326 


LITTLE KIT. 


leaving- Kit forever. You intend to seek your own 
death. Ah ! I understand you too well. You are will- 
ing to do all this, and why — why ?” 

In his excitement Chris did not hear the sound of her 
dress on the carpet. Kit was close beside him. Philip’s 
eyes were riveted on her face. She looked like a woman 
distraught as the meaning of the words she heard beat 
into her brain. 

“ You do all this, Sir Philip,” Chris said, in his ex- 
citement, “ because you are blind enough to think Kit 
does not love you, that she loves Maurice Montgomery, 
and ” — he broke off and dropped his voice to a whisper 
— “ why, she loves you better than her life ! She will 
die if you leave her ! She cannot live without 
you !” 

He turned suddenly. A low, quivering voice spoke 
from beside him. 

“ It is true ! It is true ! Oh, Philip, Philip, my love, 
my husband, you must not leave me ! I shall die ! I 
shall die ! I cannot live without you !” 

Chris turned away hurriedly. His eyes were wet 
and dull ; but as he looked back his sight was clear to 
see the red-gold of her hair resting against her hus- 
band’s dark coat as she lay clasped in that husband’s 
arms. 

******* 

And what more? Twelve years later Maurice Mont- 
gomery came back to England a worn, suffering inva- 
lid. His one joy was the constant companionship of a 
handsome, stalwart boy, who ministered to his father 
as gently as any woman, but whose strongest love was 
given to a beautiful woman whom he called Mother 
Kit ; to a noble-faced man with white hair and keen 
eyes that could be yet so tender ; to a clever, somewhat 
cynical barrister called Chris Hornton, and to a group of 


LITTLE KIT. 


327 


merry, handsome children who romped and. played 
under the veteran trees at Courtfield Manor. 

For Kit’s happiness one had but to look into her eyes 
and read the story of absolute content written there as 
she put her arm through her husband’s and rested her 
cheek against his shoulder. 

It is not given to humanity to have perfect happiness, 
but the love and the joy that lived in the lives of Philip 
Desmond and Kit came as near akin to this as could 
possibly be. 


THE END. 


Story of a French Millionaire, 


Mystery of Hotel Brichet. 


AFTER THE FRENCH OF 

Eugene Chavette. 


With Illustrations by James Fagan* 


12mo. 358 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is a French novel the scene of which is Paris of the last 
century. ' The great robber Cartouche on his trial betrays his 
associates, and it is through one implicated by his testimony tha^ 
the author introduces the history of the House of Brichet. Truth 
is said to be stranger than fiction, but the story of the galley- 
slave who escapes from Toulon to figure as the possessor of mil- 
lions in the capital of France will compare favorably with anything 
that ever happened in the world of reality. It is seldom that a 
novel filled with exciting incidents is so entirely consistent from 
beginning to end and which gains in interest as the plot develops. 
The novel has something of the spirit and “go” of Alexander 
Dumas’s famous guardsman series, the most amusing character 
being a guardsman, a swordsman and a duelist. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


An Historical Novel 


Blanche of Burgundy. 


BY 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., 

Author of “ The Gunmaker of Moscow f etc . 


With Illustrations by H. M. Eaton. 


12mo. 419 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ Blanche of Burgundy ” is a novel based upon incidents and 
scenes of a most interesting period of French history. It is the 
time of Charles the Ninth. The realm is divided into twelve great 
baronies or fiefs, the heads of which are princes almost independ- 
ent, owing military service and tribute to their sovereign. Charles 
has departed from France on the great mission of the Crusaders 
to rescue Palestine from the Moslem. The Duke of Burgundy, 
father of Blanche, is about to embark with his army for Egypt to 
join the king, but, before doing so, he awaits the marriage of his 
daughter, the beautiful Blanche, to Gregory of Franche Comte. 
The latter proves a difficult subject, and the complications which 
ensue make a highly interesting novel. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Fresh German Translation. 


THE OPPOSITE HOUSE. 

AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

Nataly von Eschstruth, 

Author of “ A priestess of Comedy ” “A Prin- 
cess of the Stage” “ Her Little Highness” 

“ Countess Dynar” etc., etc. 

With Illustrations by H. M. Eaton. 

i2mo. 282 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth.. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Nataly von Eschstruth’s latest novel is a romantic love story, 
full of interesting situations, diversity of character and thrilling 
episodes, all subsidiary to a well-constructed and carefully devel- 
oped plot. The heroine is a lovely countess of proud and an- 
cient family. The hero of the story is a manufacturer and 
belongs to the trading class, which in Germany is distinctly 
below the nobility. He throws up his business and takes an 
active part in the Franco-German War, and on the field of battle 
shows that there is quite as much nobility in the Prince of the 
Mill as in the titular princes of the court. We withhold the cli- 
max of the story, not wishing to dull the appetite and enjoyment 
of the reader. This forms one of the best volumes in the 
Ledger Library series of German translations. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
«»n receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Mrs. Barr’s New Novel. 


The Flower of Gala Water. 

BY 

Amelia E. Barr, 

Author of “ Girls of a Feather ” “ The Bow of 
Orange Ribbon ” “ Friend Olivia” “ The 
Beads of Tasmer” “ The Mate of the 
* Easter Bell '* ” “ Mrs. Barrs 

Short Stories etc., etc. 

With. Illustrations hy Charles Kendrick. 


12mo. 400 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Uniform with 

“Girls of a Feather.” Price, $1.25. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ The Flower of Gala Water ” is one of Mrs. Barr’s most de- 
lightful novels of Scottish life and scenery. In her portrayal 
of Scotch character and manners she has no superior among 
contemporary writers. Her heroines are vital with love and fem- 
inine qualities, and possess an individuality which is charming. 
They have the freshness of youth and health, and impart to her 
pages their own attractiveness. Mrs. Barr’s fine sentiment and 
vigor of conviction have ample expression in her latest novel. 
No one can read it without having every noble feeling vitalized 
and exalted. It is this moral quality which renders “ The Flower 
of Gala Water ” a book to be placed in the hands of every boy 
and every girl. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Heimburg’s Wew Novel, 


FOR ANOTHER’S WRONG 

AFTER THE GERMAN OF 

W. Heimburg, 

Author of “ Miss Mischief” “An Insignificant 
Woman ” etc., etc. 

AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION 

BY 

A. W. AYER and H. T. SLATE. 

With Illustrations by James Fagan. 

12mo. 358 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


Heimburg’s new novel is an intensely interesting love story. 
It is based on the sentiments and emotions which fill so large a 
place in the lives of women, and, therefore, appeals strongly to 
their sympathies. In reading of these imaginary lovers many 
will find parallel experiences in their own lives. The story has 
a romantic plot, and the incidents are calculated to enhance the 
interest. This is one of Heimburg’s best novels. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Story by the Author of ** Two Gentlemen 
of Hawaii.” 


On a False Charge. 


BY 

Seward W. Hopkins, 

Author of “ Two Gentlemen of Hawaii? “In 
the China Sea? etc. % etc . 


With Illustrations by H. M. Eaton. 


12mo. 340 Padres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


te On a False Charge” is an exciting story of the great strike 
in the Pennsylvania coal mines, setting forth thrilling scenes and 
incidents and showing how the mining population are often the 
victims of unscrupulous and grasping agents. The facts of this 
story are true to life, and the scenes portrayed are taken directly 
from nature. The romantic interest which centers in the heroine 
is unsurpassed in any recent American work of fiction. Mr. Hop- 
kins has a lively and entertaining style, and his book is one that 
will please every reader of his former novels. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New- York. 


A Novel of Strange Adventures. 


A Treasure Found— 

A Bride Won 


BY 

George E. Gardner. 


With Illustrations by Warren B. Davis. 


12mo. 407 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This novel is a record of adventure in the Eastern seas, full of 
strange incidents and dangers, exciting profound interest. There 
is good descriptive work in the story, and it well repays perusal 
for the pictures of the life and scenery of the ocean. There is a 
story in it which grips attention at the start, and never relaxes its 
hold upon the reader until the end. The author has made good 
in this work his right to be numbered among the popular authors 
who introduce us to new and captivating fields of action. The 
world is becoming so narrow and well-travelled that our best 
writers enlarge its borders by the aid of imagination, and this 
faculty is the secret of their charm. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Woman’s Book. 


The House by the River. 


BY 

Barbara Kent. 


With Illustrations by Warren B. Davis. 


12mo. 328 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


The House by the River” is a woman’s book from beginning 
to end. It is an interesting novel, with the principal scenes in 
the city of New York and in familiar localities. In the opening 
of the story there is a strong dramatic recital of events upon 
which the plot hinges, and which give a deep and thrilling inter- 
est to the development of the romance of two young lives. The 
vindictiveness of a man who has been compelled to do right under 
humiliating circumstances gives a strong motive to the whole 
action of the story. Every reader will be gratified by the way in 
which the conclusion is reached. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Novel. 


At a Great Cost. 

BY 

Effie Adelaide Rowlands, 

Author of “Little Kit,” “My Pretty Jane,” etc. 


With Illustrations by Harry C. Edwards. 


12mo. 348 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ At a Great Cost ” is a novel of the same popular character as 
“Molly Bawn,” by The Duchess. It is thoroughly interesting 
as a story. Every reader will be delighted with it. The young 
English girl who is the heroine is like Wordsworth’s “Dora,” 

A creature not too bright or good 
For human nature’s daily food. 

A lovely and charming woman who fills the ideal of a sweetheart 
and bride, and the pleasant beginning raises expectations in the 
reader which are not disappointed in the conclusion. We re- 
commend it to all novel readers. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postpaid 
on receipt of price by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY. 


No. and Title. 

1— Iler Double Life 

2— Unknown 

3— The Guumaker of Moscow... 

4— Maud Morton 

5 — The Hidden Hand 

6 — Sundered Hearts 

7— The Stone-Cutter of Lisbon.. 

8— Lady Kildare 

9— Cris Kock 

10 — Nearest and Dearest 

11— The Bailifl' , s Scheme 

12— A Leap in the Dark 

13— Henry M. Stanley 

14— The Old Life’s Shadows 

15 — A Mad Betrothal 

10— The Lost Lady of Lone 

17— lone 

18— For Woman’s Love 

19— Cesar Birotteau 

20— The Baroness Blank 

21— Partetl by Fate 

22— The Forsaken Inn 

23— Otti ie Aster’s Silence 

24— Edda’s Birthright 

25— The Alchemist 

26 — Under Oath 

27— Cousin Pons 

28— The Unloved Wife 

29 — Lilith 

30— Reunited 

31— Mrs. Harold Stagg 

32 — The Breach of Custom 

33 — The Northern Light 

34— Beryl’s Husband 

35— A Love Match 

36— A Matter of Millions 

37— Eugenie Grandet 

38— The Improvisatore 

39— Paoli, the Warrior Bishop... 

40— Under a Cloud 

41 — Wite and Woman 

42— An Insignificant Woman 

43— The Carletons 

*4 — Mademoiselle Desroches 

5— The Beads of Tasmer J. 

46— John Winthrop’s Defeat 

47 — Little Heather-Blossom 

48— Gloria 

49— David Lindsay 

50— The Little Countess 

51— The Cliaiitanquans 

52— The Two Husbands 

53— Mrs. Barr’s Short Stories 

54 — We Parted at the Altar 

55— Was She Wife or Widow?... 

56— The Country Doctor 

57— Florabel’s Lover 

58— Lida Campbell 

59— Edith Trevor’s Secrot 

60— Cecil Rosse 

61— Love is Lord of All 

62— Trite Daughter of Hartenstein 

63— Zina’s Awaking..--- 

64— Morris Julian’s Wife 

65— Dear Elsie 

66— The Hungarian Girl 

67— Beatrix Rohan 

68— A Son of Old Ilarrv 

69— Romance of Trouville 

70— Life of General Jackson 

71— The Return of the O’Mahony. 

72— Reuben Foreman, the Village 

73— »-Neva*s Three Lovers 

74 _'“ Ein ” 

75— “Em’s” Husband 


Author. 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Major A. R. Calhoun 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Prof. Wm. Henry Peck 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis * 

Captain Mayne Reid 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southwortb 

Henry Frederick Reddall 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

1 aura Jean Libbey 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southwortb 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

Honore De Balzac 

August Niemann 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Anna Katharine Green 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Honore De Balzac 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Honore De Balzac 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southwortb 

<4 44 44 

A Popular Southern Author 

Robert Grant 

Mrs. D. M. Lowrey. (Translator).. 

E. Werner 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Anna Katharine Green 

Honore De Balzac 

Hans Christian Andersen 

W. C. Kit chin 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safford 

W. Heimburg 

Robert Grant 

Andre Theuriet 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

J ean Kate Ludlum 

Mary J. Safford. (Translator) 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 

(4 (4 44 

S. E. Boggs. (Translator) 

John Habberton 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Malcolm Bell 

Honore De Balzac 

Laura Jean Libbey 

Jean Kate Ludlum 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

44 44 

From the German 

44 44 

Mrs. J. Kent Spender 

Elizabeth Olmis 

From the German 

44 44 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Albion W. Tourgee 

Brehat 

Oliver Dyer 

Harold Frederic 

Blacksmith. Darley Dale 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth 


Cloth 

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THE LEDGER LIBRARY==Continued. 


No. and Title. 


Author 


Clotii. Paper. 


76 

Il- 

ls 

79 

80 
81 
82 

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84 - 

85 - 
86 

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V?A- 

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— The Haunted Husband 

-The Siberian Exiles 

-The Spanish Treasure 

—The King of Honey Island — 
-Hate of the “Easter Bell”.. 

-The Child of the Parish 

-Miss Mischief 

-The Honor of a Heart 

-Transgressing the Law 

-Hearts and Coronets 

-Tressilian Court 

-Guy Tressilian’s Fate 

-Mynheer Joe 

-The Froler Case 

-A Priestess of Comedy 

-All or Nothing 

-A Skeleton in the Closet 

-Brandon Coyle’s Wife 

-Love 

-The Tell-Tale Watch 

-Hetty; or the Old Grudge 

-Girls of a Feather 

-Appassionata 

-Only a Girl's Heart 

-The Rejected Bride 


Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

Col. Thomas W. Knox 

Elizf oetb C. Winter 

Maurice Thompson 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Marie von Ebner-Eschenhach. 

W. Heimburg 

From the German .. 

Capt. Frederick Whittaker 

Jane G. Fuller 

Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

it ti 


St. George Rathborne 

From the French by H. O. Cooke. 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Count Nepomuk Czapski 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. South worth 


Honore De Balzac 

From the German 

J. H. Connelly 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

Elsa D’Esterre-Keelint 

Mrs. E. D. E. N. South worth. 

ti it if 


Gertrude Haddon 

Countess Dynar, or Polish Blood. Nataly von Eschstruth 

A Sleep-Walker Paul II. Gerrard 

A Lover From Across the Sea and Other Stories. E. Werner 


-A Princess of the Stage 

-Countess Obemau 

-The Gun- Bearer 

-Wooing a Widow 

-Her Little Highness 

-In the China Sea 

-Invisible (lands 

-Yet She Loved Him 

-The Mask of Beauty 

-Two Gentlemen of Hawaii.. 
-The Shadow of the Guillotine 

-Mystery of Hotel Brichet 

-Blanche of Burgundy 

-The Opposite House 

-The Flower of Gala Water 


Nataly von Eschstruth. 

Julien Gordon 

E. A. Robinson and G. A. Wall. 

Ewald August Koenig 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Seward W. Hopkins 

F. von Zobeltitz 

Mrs. Kate Vaughn 

Fanny Lewald 

Seward W. Hopkins 

SylvanusCobb, Jr 

Eugene Chavette 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 

Nataly von Eschstruth 

Mrs. Amelia E. Barr 

W. Heimburg 

Seward W. Hopkins 


For Another’s Wrong 
-On a False Charge. . 

-A Treasure Found— A Bride Won. George E. Gardner 

-The House by the River... . Barbara Kent 

-At a Great Co«* Effie Adelaide Rowlands 

-The Meredith Marriage Harold Payne 

-Holdenhurst Hall Walter Bloomfield- . 

-Little Kit Effie Adelaide Rowlands 


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Every Number Beautifully Illustrated. 


ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Publishers, 


Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York City. 


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